Sica
by Kyriebess
Summary: Adolescent Sam begins to rebel while his father tries to tighten the reins, but when the hunt gets dangerous, the Winchesters will need to put their disagreements aside to help each other survive.  Hurt!Dean, protective!Sam, hurt!Sam, protective!John.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I'm borrowing Supernatural and its characters. I've never been to Sica Hollow or South Dakota. I apologize if I don't accurately represent it. Plot and OCs (unfortunately) are mine.**

_Well, I'm back. This time with a multi-chapter flashback. This fic primarily explores Sam's relationship with his dad. As requested, it will be told from both Sam's AND Dean's point of view. There is some hurt!Dean and protective!Sam, but this is a primarily Sam centric piece (just preparing everyone). Expect large amounts of hurt!Sam and protective!John…er…and angry!John…and angry!Sam. The OCs are there for a reason and will have much less to do and say as the story progresses._

_Sam's obnoxiously 13 (almost 14) in this. Dean's 18._

_Also, as with most of my multi-chapter stories, this is a mystery. Figure it out as we go along and pay attention to seemingly random details, they may be important later._

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**Sica: Chapter 1**

Dean plowed forward; pushing branches and leaves out of his way as he pushed through the forest. Only a few feet ahead of him were Keith and Doug Gervich, sons of Dennis Gervich, a good friend of their father's. They had been in the Prairie Coteau Hills of South Dakota for only two days so far, but already Dean could see why this place was at the top of the "spookiest places in the world" list.

For one thing, here they were in early spring, in a forest, surrounded by pine trees, and yet, there were no bugs, there were no animals, there were no birds…in fact, other than their own footsteps, there was no sound at all. And if that wasn't eerie enough, they were following along a creek that bubbled red water. According to Keith, the Native Americans of the area believed that the water was actually the blood of their ancestors. And, of course, therefore, no Native Americans would set foot in the area.

The Gervich's lived here. Dennis and his two sons were hunters- of both the normal and supernatural variety- and had no need to travel to find hunts because this particular area provided all the hunts they could ever need.

Dennis had called their father last week, asking for assistance with a ghost. The forest was ancient and the supernatural entities that roamed the haunted area were also ancient- and that's what the Gervich's specialized in. This ghost, apparently, was not ancient and therefore seemed to be giving the hunters a bit of trouble. So it was with no small amount of resistance from Sam, that the Winchesters packed their bags and temporarily moved to Lake City, South Dakota- just outside the infamous Sica Hollow State Park.

Sam was almost fourteen now and adolescence seemed to run over his personality, replacing it with an ugly attitude and a disrespectful outlook. It was only a year ago that Sammy had dutifully followed his father and brother around- proud to be a hunter- proud to be making an impact on the world. Now _Sam_ had taken Sammy's place. _Sam_ wanted to be "normal," whatever the hell that was. _Sam_ was too good for hunting. _Sam_ wanted to spend the entire school year in one place. _Sam_ wanted reasons for everything and anything that Dean or their father decided. Dean sighed…he missed Sammy.

"This is stupid."

Speak of the devil… Dean turned in time to watch Sam fight his way out of several thorny bushes. The boy grumbled as he wrestled with the plants, scratching himself and ripping his clothing in the process. Dean sighed and stopped walking as he impatiently waited for his brother.

"Stop fighting with it. You're just getting yourself more caught up. Ease out of the branches slowly." Twenty-year-old Keith's voice rang out from behind Dean.

In response, Sam slowed his movements and lifted his scratched face to glare at the eldest Gervich boy. "Bite me."

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. He loved Sam- really- but there were moments, many as of recently, where he was honestly ashamed to be related to someone so disrespectful and grumpy.

Dean tried to curb his brother's attitude. "He's trying to help you, dude. Keith and Doug know this forest-"

Sam interrupted with a snort of disbelief. "Right. That's why I'm getting cut up while looking for Bigfoot."

Sam turned back to his fight with the bush as Doug defended himself. "Bigfoot really does live here. The reason we haven't found him yet is because _you_ keep talking, which lets him know where we are."

Sam finally stumbled out of the branches. "No. We haven't found him yet because Bigfoot is imaginary…kind of like your sex life."

Dean shut his eyes, wincing at the reaction that comment might cause. Behind him, he heard Keith snicker and then apologize. "Sorry bro, just…that was a good one."

Dean watched as Doug moved towards Sam. "Look. If you don't want to be here, then go. Nobody's making you come."

Sam crossed his arms. "That's not true. My dad's making me come. I _don't_ want to be here. I don't even want to be in this state-"

Dean had had enough. "Oh my God, Sammy, if I have to hear one more time that you'd rather be back in Baltimore I will gag you and tape your mouth shut myself. We're here. We're here, dude. We're not going back to Baltimore. Get over it. And get over it fast because your attitude is really starting to piss me off."

Sam raised his brows in challenge. Then, crossing his legs, he sat.

Keith questioned him. "What are you doing?"

Sam didn't speak, but Dean already knew the answer. Sam was refusing to move, and therefore stopping all of them from moving on. "Sam, get up."

Still, Sam sat, his head turned toward the side, his lips shut.

Apparently, Doug caught on to Sam's plan as well; he turned back toward the trail. "Hey, he wants to sit there? Leave him."

Unfortunately, 'leaving him' was not a possibility. Dad's orders: stay together. Dean glared down at his brother. He had really been looking forward to seeing Bigfoot. This was supposed to be a good day. His father and Dennis were doing the hunt research and had given the day off to their sons. They would all hunt together tonight, but for now, he had a day's vacation. He was hanging out with two other hunters, one his age, the other only two years older and they were nice enough guys. But Bigfoot? He had always wanted to see Bigfoot. Bigfoot was a classic. And the Gervich boys had already seen him. Bigfoot was here and as it stood right now, Dean wouldn't get to see him. And all because Sam was still pissed that their father had made them move. Fine Sam was pissed, but there was nothing he could do about the move, so he needed to get over it and more importantly- stop taking it out on Dean.

Dean took two steps forward. "Sam…" this would be Sam's last warning, "…get…up…now."

Dean watched his brother tense at the tone, but Sam was a Winchester and intimidated or not, Sam didn't move.

Dean nodded. "All right. That's it. You're dead."

_That_ got a reaction from Sam. Before Dean even finished speaking, Sam had shouted "no!", jumped up, and began running. Out for the kill, Dean chased after him, ducking branches, fumbling over roots, and sprinting at top speed- until he forgot to duck.

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Sam kept running for all he was worth. Dean was fast, much faster than him, and Dean was probably right behind him. Sparing the time to check would slow him down too much. Vaguely he tried to listen for his brother's footsteps, but it was hard to hear anything over the sound of his own footsteps, heavy breath, and racing heart.

Finally, after about two minutes of running, Sam began to slow down. He was out of breath, but that had little to do with it. He needed to hear Dean's footsteps. He wanted to get away from Dean- far enough that Dean couldn't grab him and throw him onto the ground or do anything else to him…but to _actually_ get away from Dean- far enough that Dean didn't know where he was and vice versa- that was bad.

Not hearing anything behind him, nor feeling Dean tackling him to the ground, Sam stopped and turned around. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized that he was surrounded by nothing but forest. The silence was deafening. There wasn't even a wind rustling through the trees. No bugs, no animals, no noises at all. Even the sound of his own heavy breathing seemed to be swallowed up by the forest. Now Dean was _really_ going to kill him.

Biting his lip, Sam slowly and carefully began to retrace his steps. Luckily, his running through the forest had left a clear trail through the shrubs. He breathed in relief. If he had left a clear trail, Dean should come running into view any minute now.

"You think they left you?"

Sam froze as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Slowly, he looked to his right. Sitting on a nearby rock was a pale, semi-transparent ghost. The ghost looked to be about his age and was clad in corduroy pants and a light t-shirt. The ghost stood up and began walking toward him.

"I heard them before…they weren't very nice to you…"

Backing up into a tree, Sam felt through his pockets for something to use against the ghost. He knew this ghost. This was the ghost that they had been sent here to hunt, the ghost of Trevor Macks, a boy who had been murdered nine years ago and had been killing people in the local park ever since. The only thing was, Trevor hadn't been killing in _this_ park.

"Are you afraid of me? I'm not going to hurt you…"

Sam stared back at the ghost, trying to figure out what to do. He had no salt or iron on him, Dean was m.i.a., and his father was researching this ghosts remains in another park.

"My name's Trevor."

Sam let out a short laugh. Yeah- he knew that…he was totally screwed.

"What's your name?"

Sam sighed. His only chance was to try to talk his way out of whatever was about to happen. If that was even possible, but there really wasn't anything else he could do. He doubted he'd be able to out run a ghost. "My name's Sam."

The ghost nodded and stepped back. "How come you're afraid of me?"

Sam gave the boy an obvious look. "Because you're dead?"

Trevor put his head down, appearing on the verge of tears. Turning away from Sam, the boy began to look around the forest. He spoke in a whisper. "I can't get out of here."

Sam found himself somewhat intrigued. He had met several murderous ghosts over the past few years and yet _this_ ghost, despite his reputation, really didn't seem that dangerous. Throwing caution to the wind, Sam took a step towards his dead companion. "What do you mean?"

The ghost turned back, now visibly crying. "He kills me over and over again, every night. I can't get away from him."

Sam shook his head, now he was totally confused. According to the Gervichs' research, the ghost of Trevor Macks had been seen hovering around various different dead people in Roy Lake State Park. The people had all died in various different ways, nothing tying their deaths together other than the apparition. But that story and Trevor's weren't gelling. "Who kills you? You're already dead."

The ghost sat on the rock and nodded. "I can't find my way out of here. I'm not allowed to leave I think and every night…I don't know who he is, but he comes and kills me again and I can't stop it. It's like I forget and I do everything the same way again."

Sam nodded; he was beginning to understand. "So you relive your murder every night?"

The ghost nodded and then looked up at the sky. "It'll happen again really soon." He pointed up behind Sam. "The sun's starting to set. He kills me right after."

Sam looked over to where the boy was pointing. "Shit." Dean was seriously going to kill him. And suddenly Sam began to feel frightened again. Where the hell was Dean? Dean could track anything anywhere…even without having an obvious trail to follow. Had Dean actually let him run off in the middle of the woods? Sam found that hard to believe, but if Dean had ditched him, it would almost be better than Sam having run off with Dean unable to find him. At least if Dean ditched _him_, Dean wouldn't be as pissed.

A rustling in the trees caused both Sam and the ghost to jump. These trees didn't rustle- there was no wind or animals. Cautiously, Sam called out, "Dean?"

Trevor shook his head. "It's time. He's coming. Get out of here Sam."

Sam turned back to the ghost. "Wait. Who killed you?" Obviously his father and Dennis were on the wrong trail with this ghost hunt. If Sam could figure it out himself, maybe he could finally be treated like he was an equal member of the family rather than the baby who didn't get an equal say or an equal responsibility or, most importantly, an equal respect.

Suddenly, an incredible tall, overweight man marched out of the trees; his eyes set on Trevor. Trevor panted from his rock. "You can't do this."

The overweight man smiled and walked forward. Both Sam and the ghost backed away from him. Sam had no idea if the man was only after Trevor, or if he would harm Sam as well, but he wasn't about to find out. The man charged forward and both boys turned on their heels and began running.

Running full speed from the large man, Sam had only one thing on his mind: he had to find Dean. He wanted to be able to handle this himself, but with his lack of weapons, and his lack of height and weight, now was not the time to be proud. He needed help and Dean would help him. The only problem…he had no idea where Dean was.

Deciding to break away from his ghostly companion, Sam made a sharp turn to the left. Unfortunately, Trevor took that same moment to turn right. Sam fell to the floor as he collided with the specter.

Not wasting any more time, Sam jumped back to his feet and resumed his dash. He had to make it across the field to get onto the other side of the park. From there, he could reach the road.

Wait…an eerie feeling enveloped Sam…how did he know how to get back to the road? He had no idea where he was.

"I think I'm in you."

Sam gasped and stopped, forgetting about the man who was chasing him. He was possessed by a ghost.

"Keep running Sam. He'll catch us."

Sam shook his head. "Get out."

All of a sudden, a feeling of surprise and hope filled him and with a detached sensation, Sam realized that he was feeling the ghost's feelings. "I can change. Things aren't happening the same way. We can change it!"

Sam stomped his foot. "We nothing. Get out."

The bushes rustled and Sam found himself once again running through the forest at top speed. The field was close enough now that he could see it. Fear flooded him and Sam realized that the man had caught Trevor in the field. That was where he had died.

Quickly Sam looked to the left and the right to find a path where he could avoid the field. Unfortunately, the trees on either of the trail were to thick to navigate through at his current speed. Although Trevor had seemingly been broken out of his compulsion to relive his death, the murderer was not possessing anyone and hopefully would not be able to change course.

Sam looked at the field, if he could turn right immediately upon entering the field, maybe he could get out of the murderer's path. The second he entered the field, Sam made his turn.

A weight slammed into him from behind and terror shot through his body. The man was going to kill him. He could feel his arms tingling as the adrenaline rushed through his system. The man's heaviness was crushing as he landed on top of him. He tried to fight, to move, but the man's weight barely allowed him to breathe. Sam felt the tears sting his eyes as both he and Trevor flooded his body with panic and fear.

The man somehow managed to roll Sam over so that they were now face to face. Sam stared up into the large cheeks and beady blue eyes. The murderer was smiling, a gapped toothed smile, surrounded by an uneven shave. Drool dribbled down the man's chin and onto Sam's face. The smell of morning saliva filled his nostrils.

"You've been bad, but this feels real good."

Tears rolled out the side of Sam's eyes. The man's crushing weight was still upon him and somehow the murderer had pinned both of Sam's arms above his head with one arm. There was nowhere to go, no way to run. Dread filling his body, Sam asked Trevor if he'd been raped before he died. Trevor didn't think so, but either way the death wouldn't be a pleasant experience.

Not knowing what to do, Sam did the only thing he could. "Dean!"

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_I'd love to hear your thoughts so far..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews! You all brought a huge smile to my face. Now, hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter as well._

Charli: _Aw! Thanks! You're so sweet! Well, if you like adolescent Sam, then you'll probably like this fic. Adolescent Sammy's all over it!_  
bb1128: _Thanks! Here's your update!_

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**Sica: Chapter 2**

Sam screamed like his life depended on it, which it did. However, the trees seemed to muffle each scream, the sound waves vanishing into the thick forest air. There was no way Dean would hear him. Sam gasped for breath under the blanket of the murderer's muscle and fat. His arms were pinned. Even with only one arm holding them down, Sam couldn't get an inch of movement. Likewise, his legs were also immobile- trapped under layers of skin, fat, and meat.

The man's face was lowering now, his nose coming to the side of Sam's neck, slowly sniffing its way from his shoulder to his ear. The feeling tickled and made his stomach clench. He wanted out. He didn't want to die here- not like this. More tears spilled and the man brought his nose up to Sam's. "You smell fresh. Not rotten anymore."

Sam felt Trevor tense within him and knew immediately that the murderer's script had changed. This was close to what had happened to Trevor, but it wasn't exact- not like it was every other night when Sam wasn't there.

The man lowered his nose to smell Sam's lips and Sam grabbed the opportunity. Thrusting his face up, Sam bit the man's nose…hard. The murderer immediately sat up and grabbed his bleeding nose, releasing Sam's arms in the process. Sam clawed at his belt and flipped open his knife. Before the man could even process what was happening, Sam began swiping at the murderer's body. With an angry yell, the man stood up, grabbed Sam by the knife-wielding wrist, and flung him through the air.

Sam felt an intense pain in his back as it hit a nearby tree, before he finding himself face down in the dirt. He was stunned, had the wind knocked out of him, and yet every fiber in his body was screaming at him to get up and run. Unfortunately, his lungs and back would allow no such thing. Desperately, Sam tried to suck in air. He was honestly surprised that the man hadn't pounced on him yet, but he knew he wasn't going to get much more time.

"No, please!"

Sam turned his head at the tormented scream. The murderer was now lying on Trevor the same way he laid on Sam. Apparently, Sam's violent meeting with the tree had been enough force to knock Trevor out of his body. The large man seemed to want nothing to do with Sam, it was clearly Trevor that he had been after.

"PLEASE!"

Trevor screamed again, tears streaming from his eyes, a look of pure terror covering his face. The murderer sniffed the boy's neck and ear as Trevor's body shook, taking in gasping breaths through desperate sobs. The boy knew he was going to die now; Sam could see the depressed acceptance envelop the ghost's face.

Sam watched, unable to move as the man brought his free hand up to Trevor's neck and began to squeeze. The ghost struggled, tears still flowing, a pleading look of "I don't want to die" taking over his expression. Slowly, Sam's own ability to breathe was returning to him as his lungs opened up to take in more oxygen. And just as he started to recover, he watched the replay of Trevor starting to die. The death was slow, the boy's pale face turning red, swelling with the build up of blood. The murderer's hand squeeze tighter around the ghost's neck and Trevor's mouth opened, but Sam saw no rise in his chest.

It took minutes before the boy's eyes closed, before the hand on Trevor's neck released its pressure. Minutes during which every instinct in Sam's body plead for him to get up and run. But Sam found himself mesmerized by the deadly replay. There was nothing he could do for Trevor, the boy was already dead and had been reliving his death every night for the past nine years. But the more information Sam could get on how the ghost died, the more information he'd have to contribute to the hunt. It was a huge risk to his own well-being. After the murderer was done with Trevor, he could just as easily go after Sam, but if Sam could watch the murder and then find out what was done with Trevor's body, he could finally put Trevor's soul to rest.

Trevor was gone now- if at all possible, more pale now than he had been when Sam first met him. Sam gripped his knife as the man slowly pulled his hand from the boy's neck. Trevor's head lolled lifelessly, a large handprint covering his neck. The murderer sat up, lifting his crushing weight off the ghost's chest and releasing the severely bruised arms. Sam changed his position; he was ready if the man turned on him…but it seemed that that was not to be. Just as the overweight killer stood up- he disappeared, vanishing into the forest's haunted air.

Trevor remained where he laid- the imprint and bruises just as the man left them. Standing up, Sam slowly looked around the small meadow wondering what had happened. Was the killer a ghost? It certainly seemed that way given the way he relived the murder and then promptly disappeared…but if he was a ghost, why could Sam bite him? Why was he afraid of Sam's knife? It wasn't iron… And why did the murderer vanish, but not Trevor? The whole situation was extremely confusing, not to mention that his arms hurt from where he had been pinned down, and his back was killing him from where it hit the tree.

Sam pulled up the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt to get a look at his arms. Sure enough, there were bruises left behind from where the man had held them down. In fact, on Sam's left arm the bruise was clearly in the shape of a large hand.

It was getting harder to see now; the stars and moon seemed to be giving more illumination than the setting sun. He was in a meadow, in the middle of a haunted forest, at night, injured, and staring at a re-dead ghost. If Bigfoot didn't kill him, Dean and his father were definitely going to do the deed.

Sam sighed. He _had_ to find Dean. _Had_ to. Right now. With one more mournful glance at Trevor, Sam began following his running trail back to where he started. Sam's violent sprint over the forest floor left an unmistakable path through the woods, which thankfully Sam was able to follow despite the growing darkness. He hadn't even realized how far he had run until ten minutes later when he finally saw the rock where he had first met Trevor- a rock now occupied by his brother and their two new housemates. Sam let out a huge breath, literal tears entering his eyes in relief at the sight of his brother.

"…I can't believe he freakin' did this."

Sam stopped short as he heard Doug's voice. It was him they were talking about, he knew that; and he wanted to hear what they had to say.

"Like I said before, he probably got lost." That was Keith's voice trying to calm his brother.

Sam watched as Doug stormed forward, his finger pointed in front of him. "First…he shouldn't get lost. He's supposed to be a hunter for pete's sake; he should be able to find his way in a forest. Second…you can't tell me that it's okay that he just left his brother bleeding on the forest floor…"

Sam's eyes widened. Dean was bleeding? Dean was hurt? Had the man gotten him too? What the hell had happened? Was Dean okay? Once again, Sam found it hard to breath, although this time worry was the cause rather than a three hundred fifty pound man.

Looking over, Sam took in the site of his brother sitting on the rock, a hand holding what looked like a t-shirt to the side of his head. Just as Sam looked at him, Dean slid off the rock and began walking up the freshly made trail. "Whatever, I don't care. I just need to find Sammy. My dad's gonna kill me."

Keith spoke up. "We'll back you up man. We were here when he took off; it wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could do."

"Yeah, besides, he was acting like an ass all day. He totally went against every single freakin' thing you or your father said to him." Doug began to follow Dean up the trail.

Sam watched as his brother, now within five feet of him, stared at the ground and shook his head. "I'm telling you all that won't matter. He's my responsibility. I have to stick with him no matter what…even if it means I don't get to see Bigfoot because he throws a tantrum in the middle of the forest."

Sam winced. He hadn't actually thought about whether Dean had wanted to see Bigfoot. All he was really thinking about at the time was the fact that he wanted to be hanging out with his friends in Baltimore- not traipsing through a forest looking for an imaginary monster. But now, knowing that Dean had been looking forward to today, Sam was beginning to feel really guilty about ruining it.

Doug nodded. "I know he's your brother, but the kid's spoiled rotten. You shouldn't have chased him; you should've ignored him and kept looking for Bigfoot. Screw him. Why should he be the one in complete control over what you do? Why do you have to always do what _he_ wants?"

Sam blinked at that question. Why should _Dean_ always have to do what _Sam_ wants? Nobody ever did what _Sam_ wanted. _Sam_ barely had any say at all about anything. _Sam_ didn't want to be in this forest; _Sam_ didn't even want to be in this state. It wasn't Dean following Sam around…it was Sam always having to follow Dean around.

Dean turned to face his new friend. "I _did_ stop chasing him. The part where I ran into a tree and broke my head open kind of got in the way. And look where that got me…now it's dark and Sammy's God knows where…we're in the middle of a haunted park, Doug! Anything could've happened to him."

Sam watched his brother wince and stop walking- obviously waiting for the pain to recede in his head.

So _that_ was what had happened to Dean. Dean had gotten hurt running after him…and he hadn't gotten to see Bigfoot. Sam closed his eyes in guilt. He hadn't meant to hurt his brother. He was just angry, but he never meant to take it out on Dean…

"Dean?" Sam stepped out of the shadows and toward his brother.

Immediately Dean's head whipped around at the sound of his brother's voice. "Sammy?"

Sam nodded and watched Dean literally sag with relief. Then, still holding the shirt to his head, he glared at his sibling. "What the hell is wrong with you? Where the hell have you been? It's been an hour, Sam. You hate me that much?"

Sam frantically shook his head, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He fought with Dean often, and usually it was no big deal, but he had hurt Dean this time, both physically and emotionally, and that fact was enough to scare Sam into silence.

Doug stepped forward. "Your brother was out cold for ten minutes. You just leave him there?"

Sam cringed and put his head down so the tears in his eyes would be less visible. "I'm sorry."

Dean nodded, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Well, that just fixes everything."

Sam still stared at the floor. A part of him thought to mention the ghost and the man, but at this point, he figured that would only add to the trouble. Running into the ghost wouldn't change the fact that he had ruined Dean's day and inadvertently gotten his brother hurt. _That_ had all happened _before_ he met Trevor. Not to mention, if Dean knew that Sam had been hurt and in danger while they were separated, he'd be even more pissed. Sam had no idea when or how to tell his family about the ghost, obviously they'd have to know, but now really didn't seem to be the best time.

Breaking the tense silence, Keith held out his hands. "If we could continue all this in the car, I'd really like to get the hell out of this park before it's pitch black. There's a shitload of evil creatures in here and we're not nearly prepared to spend the night with them."

Still glaring, Dean gestured for his brother to join the group. With his head still down, Sam meekly walked forward to his brother's side. Within a half hour, they were out of the park.

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"Dad, I'm fine." Dean flinched as his father held his chin in his hand, flashing a pen light into his eyes. Finally the man sat back, an appraising look on his face.

"You ran into a tree?" His father's voice held more than a touch of suspicion.

Dean nodded in response as John squinted, apparently trying to see through his son's half-truth. "You just ran into a tree?"

Dean smiled at his dad. "Sucker just jumped out at me…came out of nowhere."

His father looked unamused. From behind the couch Sam's voice rang out. "It was my fault. He was chasing me."

Dean shut his eyes briefly before turning and sending a warning glance to his brother. He thought he had been clear in the car- no lying, but no telling the whole story either. There was no reason their father needed to know about the part where Sam went missing for an hour. All that would do is put _both_ of them on their father's shitlist.

Dean watched with trepidation as Sam acknowledged, and then ignored, his warning look.

Their father spoke. "He was chasing you…"

Dean decided to intervene before his brother said too much. "Come on dad, you know how we are. Sammy pissed me off, I went after him, he ran, I chased, the tree got involved, end of story."

With a drained sigh, John nodded. "Fine. You're both in for tonight." Before Dean could even process the comment, his father threw the first aide kit at Sam. "Since it seems you started it, you can finish it too. You watch him. Wake him every two hours; keep the ice on his head; when we come back, if the swelling's gone down, you'll stitch him."

"Whoa!" Dean held up his hands in alarm. Sam had only stitched a wound once before, and while he had done an okay job, that was on their father's back. _This_ was Dean's _face_ they were talking about. This was what made him the envy of every guy in North America…and a thirteen-year-old was going to stitch it? "Dad…no."

One look and Dean's mouth snapped shut. Apparently that particular order was not up for discussion. In a way he knew why his father was doing it. Sam had been bucking at the reins for more responsibility lately, and handing Sam the job of taking care of his injured older brother would be a way for their father to show Sammy that they trusted him…and that they were doing their best to treat him more like an adult. But did his face have to be sacrificed for all that? Glancing over at Sam didn't make Dean feel all that much better. Judging by the expression on his brother's face, Sam had about as much confidence in his stitching as Dean did.

"Why do you want me to do it? It's his face."

Dean cringed. He agreed with the comment wholeheartedly, but the way it was worded…it came out as a 'questioning of orders' rather than a 'polite request to defer the job to more experienced hands'…and 'questioning of orders' was not tolerated by John Winchester. Thankfully though, it only seemed to take one of their father's looks for Sam to shut his mouth and accept his responsibilities. Good thing too, because Dean wasn't sure if with his current headache, he could deal with rebellious Sammy.

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_Next one will have lots of brotherly goodness in it, I promise!_

_Review...please? _


	3. Chapter 3

_The amount of positive support in this fandom is amazing! Thank you all so much for reviewing! I can't tell you how much each review brightens my day!!_

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**Sica: Chapter 3**

"You can go to sleep, you know…I'll wake you up."

Dean glanced over from his comfortable position on the sofa to look at his brother. He was tired and his head was killing him…and of course Sam would wake him up, but he just couldn't bring himself to sleep while his father was out on the hunt- especially since he'd be returning by 3 a.m.

Flipping through the TV channels with the remote, Dean responded. "That's okay, Sammy. I want to watch Baywatch anyway."

Sam sighed and stood up. "It's _Sam_, and Baywatch isn't on a 2 a.m."

Not even glancing in his brother's direction, Dean continued changing the channels. "Yes it is. Keith, Doug, and I were watching it last night."

"At two in the morning?"

Dean gave a brief nod even as his brother stomped his foot. "How come you didn't get me?"

At that Dean pushed himself up onto his elbow to shoot his brother a disbelieving stare. "Dude…you were sleeping."

Sam went to argue, but Dean cut him off. "And anyway, you don't even like Baywatch."

Sam crossed his arms. "Yes I do."

Dean laughed, dropped back down until he was lying flat, and resumed his search on the TV. "Since when?"

His question was met with silence and Dean spared a glance over as a depressed looking Sam flopped back down into the chair. Sammy didn't want to be left out, Dean understood that, but he had been asleep and despite what Sam may have thought, he really hadn't missed much. Not to mention most of the conversation really wouldn't have been appropriate for the thirteen-year-old.

"You always leave me out of everything."

Dean rolled his eyes. Returning to where he had started in his Baywatch search, and having found nothing, he flipped off the TV and closed his eyes. He was on the couch; whenever his father walked in all he'd have to do is sit up to get a summary of how the hunt went. A short nap wouldn't cause him to miss anything.

Down by his feet, Dean could feel his brother fighting to pull out a blanket and within a minute Sam was covering him with it. Keeping his eyes closed, Dean fought a smile. Sam really was taking his "watch out for Dean" responsibility seriously, and apparently, Sammy had learned well from his father and older brother because the next thing Dean knew, Sam was smoothing out his hair and holding a hand to the side of his head. It was something he did to Sam if he was sick. It was a way of checking for fever, but evidently his brother had missed the purpose of the action.

Realizing that Sam's hand had still not left his forehead, Dean picked up his arm and whacked his brother away. "Dude, get off me."

"I was just putting you to bed."

Dean opened his eyes. "Well, I'm not sick so I think the fever checking is a little unnecessary."

Sam looked confused. "You don't just do that when I have a fever."

The tone was accusatory and although Sam may have been right, there were some times that Dean or their father just did that, that definitely wasn't something that needed to be openly discussed. "What are you a freakin' girl? Go find a doll and put that to bed. Leave me out of it."

Dean closed his eyes once again and listened to his brother's retreating mumbles. "Sheesh. Somebody gets cranky when they've been hit on the head."

Sam hadn't meant anything by the comment, Dean knew that, but for some reason the remark just hit a nerve. Opening his eyes, Dean pushed himself up until he could see his brother over the opposite side of the couch. "Well you'll have to excuse me, Sammy. Oh, no, wait, I forgot, _Sam_. Wouldn't want to call you by the wrong nickname; the sky might start falling." Ignoring his brother's wince, Dean continued, "I can't imagine why I might be in a bad mood. Maybe it's because I finally get the chance to see Bigfoot and then instead I get to spend the afternoon looking for my obnoxious, selfish little brother who decided to run away-"

"I didn't run away from you!"

Dean paused in his tirade to wince at the volume of Sam's interruption. Seemingly unaware, Sam continued at the unnecessarily loud noise level. "I thought you were right behind me! I couldn't hear anything in that place! I thought you were right there-"

This time it was Dean who interrupted as he sat himself up. "That's bullshit." Sam went to argue, but Dean cut him off again. "No, Sam, that's crap. Even if you kept running, eventually you would've turned around and noticed that I wasn't there."

Sam nodded. "I did and then I went back to try and find you."

Dean shook his head, pointing his finger at his brother. "It wouldn't have taken an hour to find me, Sam. And we followed your trail to the end. You doubled back and then you turned right and _ran_ that way. So, don't give me that shit that you went back to find me. You didn't give a shit what happened to me or what I thought-"

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Sam was crying now, his breaths coming in great gasps. "That's not true! I did go back! I didn't know you got hurt! I _never_ would leave you hurt! I wouldn't do that, Dean!"

Sam covered his face with his hands and Dean mimicked the action while flopping back down onto the couch. His head was killing him and Sam's emotional angst had brought on a full force case of nausea. Had he been this bad at that age?

At the side of the couch he could still hear his brother's sobs and with reluctant moan, Dean pushed himself up and forward. Pissed at Sam or not, Dean was never one to just sit around while his brother cried. Pushing himself into a standing position, Dean felt the heaviness hit his head even as his vision went dark. For a moment, he lost all control of his limbs and would've fallen to his knees had he not been caught around the waist by his little brother.

How Sam was holding him up, he had no idea. He was dead weight and Sam was still only two thirds his size. But somehow, the kid managed to control his brother's fall and use it to carefully place Dean back down onto the sofa. Once he was sitting, Dean placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He wished the pounding sharp pain would cease its pulse in his head.

"I got you, Dean. It's okay."

God, Sammy really was channeling him. It made sense that Sam would take care of him in the safe fashion that he'd been cared for but still…it was weird to have your own words and actions thrown back at you.

Regaining his vision and composure, Dean sat back and nodded up at his brother. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam stared back with a concerned, tear-streaked face. "Are you okay?"

Dean laid back against the couch and tried to look as confident and reassuring as possible. "Yeah dude, I'm all right; just stood up too fast."

Sam seemed to accept the answer before crouching in front of his brother. "I'm sorry, Dean, about today. I swear I wasn't trying to get away from you- and I never meant for you to get hurt."

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded. "Fine, but then what was with your second dash through the trees?"

Upon being met with silence, Dean cracked open his eyes. Sam's apprehensive stare brought him back to full awareness. Whatever happened, it wasn't good. Giving his brother his full attention, Dean leaned forward.

Sam sighed, biting his lip before he spoke. "There was a ghost."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't expected that…although truth be told, Sam running into one of the park's evil inhabitants had been one of the many fears that had crossed his mind while the boy was missing.

Seeing that his brother wasn't offering more information, which in itself scared him, Dean probed for more. "Did it hurt you?"

Sam scrunched up his face before responding slowly. "No, not…no?"

Dean raised his brows again. "'No?' Are you_ asking _me if 'no' is the right answer? 'Cause I wasn't there, man. I have no idea if it hurt you."

This time Sam appeared certain. "The ghost didn't hurt me…there was another ghost though."

Dean nodded in encouragement, still fearful of the fact that getting Sam to talk was like pulling teeth. Getting Sam to talk was never this difficult… "The other ghost hurt you?"

Sam made an unreadable face. "Actually…I'm not sure if it was a ghost. It was a man, kind of…I bit him and then he killed the ghost."

Dean closed his eyes in frustration. What? Was it the head injury that was making this so difficult to follow? Sighing, he brought his hand up to massage his temples. "Sam, take pity on me, dude. I'm injured here."

Sam tried again. "Well, I'm not sure if the other guy was a ghost or-"

Dean sat forward again, interrupting to get to the point. "Are you okay? Right now…are you hurt? Should we performing some cleansing ritual? Do you need first aid?"

Sam looked startled and confused before looking around the room and then down at his arms. "No…I think I'm okay."

Dean sighed in relief. That was what he wanted to know. Not that he wasn't interested in the ghost and whatever else was there, but it was an infamously haunted forest. He expected bad shit to be hanging around. He really just needed to know if his brother was okay.

Dean nodded, "Okay." Then he sat back against the couch and closed his eyes. "So what happened now, with the ghosts?"

Sam took a breath. "It was Trevor Macks."

Dean's eyes flew open at a startling rate. "What?! Sam…what…how…it couldn't be. Trevor's in a totally different park."

Sam agreed. "I know, he's supposed to be by Roy Lake, but he wasn't. He was sitting on a rock. The rock you were sitting on before I found you-"

Dean interrupted. "Let's get one thing straight. I found _you_."

Sam scrunched his face, insulted. "What? No you didn't. _I_ retraced my steps and they led me right to you."

"Only because I was following your trail to _you_."

Sam waved him off. "Fine. Whatever, Dean. You want to hear about this or not?"

Dean leaned back with a shrug. "Sure."

Sam continued his story. "So there was a ghost of a boy who looked like my age and I thought it had to be Trevor-"

Dean interrupted again. "Sam, it could've been anyone. Just because he was close to your age doesn't mean that he's Trevor."

Sam stood up, annoyed. "Would you stop interrupting me?"

Dean let out a frustrated breath and was about to respond when his father, Dennis, Keith, and Doug walked in the house. Dean inspected them as they entered the door, checking for signs of a scuffle, injuries… Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any.

"Well, that was a huge waste of time." Doug, the last one in, shut the door with a bang as his father shot him an aggravated look.

Keith clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Nice bump, man."

Dean felt around the bump on his head and grinned. "Thanks."

Keith smiled back and continued talking as he entered the kitchen. "You'll be happy to know you didn't miss anything."

Doug made a face. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a phantom light. You know how many phantom lights are in this area? Every night you can see hundreds of them. On the most boring hunts you can always amuse yourself by taking down a few of those suckers. But tonight were there any? Noooo-"

"That's enough, Doug…" Dennis interrupted, "…I don't want to hear it. Not every hunt's exciting. It's part of the job. Go wash up and get to bed. We'll go over our next plan in the morning."

Doug nodded. "Yes, sir." And then walked up the stairs. Appearing from the kitchen with a chicken wing in his mouth, Keith followed in suit.

With a sigh and a rough scrub over his face, Dennis turned to John. "You really think girls would've been worse?"

Dean watched his father smile. "You want to deal with boys like our sons coming to pick up your daughter?"

Dennis shuddered and made his way toward the stairs. "There's a nightmare…We'll debrief tomorrow."

John nodded to his friend. "You got it, Den."

Dennis waved behind him and began the long march up. "Feel better, Dean."

Dean waved back at the stairs. "Thanks." Then he returned his attention to his father. "So, a no show on the ghost, huh?"

His father bent down and began studying the wound on his head. "Nope, no sign at all. It's been three days now."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam staring at him, obviously itching to tell their father what he thought he had seen in the park. The only problem was, as soon as Sam described the ghost, their father would go ballistic. First would be the "why wasn't I told about this right away" question, which would be immediately followed by, "where the hell were you during all this, Dean?" Yep, that would be fun. Maybe he could play up the head wound…

"Dad?"

Dean closed his eyes as his father briefly turned his attention to Sam.

"I think…I mean…um…"

There really was no point in dragging out the impending doom… Opening his eyes, Dean interrupted his brother. "While I was knocked out, Sammy thinks he saw Trevor's ghost in Sica Hollow."

Their father, shocked, immediately turned his head in Sam's direction. "What? Why didn't you tell me this right away?"

Yep, saw that one coming… Dean threw an arm over his eyes to try and shield himself from the imminent yelling. His protection didn't last long as his father pulled his arm off his face. "Keep your arm off. It's still exposed; you'll get an infection."

Then John turned back to his youngest son. "Are you sure it was Trevor?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. He introduced himself."

Their father stood up. "He talked to you? Did he touch you?"

Sam's face paled instantly. Clearly the answer was 'yes'. Dean watched as his father approached his brother, inspecting every inch of Sam with a scrutinizing eye. Not that there was much to see given the baggy sweats he was wearing. "Sammy, did he hurt you?"

Sam shook his head. "No, and I don't think he's the one who's been killing those people either. There was this other…thing…a really big, fat man. He killed Trevor and Trevor's been reliving his death every night. I think the man's the one who has been killing everyone."

Even hearing it the second time around, Dean couldn't follow his brother's story. Although it was a relief to see that, based on his father's face, he wasn't the only one having a hard time.

John pursed his lips. "Trevor told you all that?"

Sam went to speak and then abruptly stopped before trying again. "Yeah."

Dean watched his father blink and then shake his head. Then the man turned to him. "You didn't think to mention the fact that your brother had a conversation with the killer ghost before we wasted tonight?"

Shrinking under his father's authoritarian stare, Dean opened his mouth to defend himself. Sam interrupted. "He's not the killer, dad. I'm telling you it's this other guy."

Their father turned back to Sam. "Because the ghost told you that…"

Sam shook his head. "Not just that. I saw the other guy. He killed Trevor."

John squinted. "You _saw_ this man kill Trevor?"

Dean watched with growing trepidation as his brother nodded. Why the hell hadn't Sam mentioned any of this before? How the hell could all of this have happened while he was out?

"How the hell long was Dean out that you were watching this? And where the hell were Keith and Doug? I gather they didn't see this too. Sam, you sure it was a ghost? You sure it wasn't a fresh murder that you saw?"

Dean sat all the way up. The idea of Sammy witnessing, and being close enough to witness, a fresh murder scared the crap out of him. Sam being close enough to witness the re-enactment frightened him enough as it was, but a fresh murder…

"He introduced himself, dad."

With a heavy sigh, John rubbed a hand over his tired face. Dean studied his father. The man looked old and given the bags under his eyes, he certainly could use some sleep. In fact, they all could. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm beat. You know us injured men…we need our rest. What'd ya say we all hit the sac and pick this up in the morning?"

Dean saw the small smile grace his father's face. "That wound needs to be stitched first, Dean. Otherwise you'll have a nasty scar."

Defeated, Dean flopped back down on the sofa.

"You ready, Sammy?"

Dean heard the hesitation in his brother's voice. "I don't think I should do it, dad. It's on his face. I'm not as good as you are at this."

John nodded. "Right. That's why you need the extra practice."

Sam shook his head. "Dad…I'm not doing it."

Dean widened his eyes in shock. That was the first time he could _ever_ remember _anybody_ actively defying his father.

"Excuse me?"

Dean bit his lip, wishing to God that he had telepathy so that he could silently yell at his brother to take it back.

"Sorry, dad, but no. I'm not doing it. It's on his face. There's no way I can make the stitches fine enough-"

Dean cringed as he watched his father cut Sam off. "Sam, you pick up the first aid kit and you stitch your brother's wound."

With a hard swallow Sam stepped back, shaking his head in disagreement.

The veins in their father's head were beginning to bulge. "Sam…I'm not going to say it again. You need to learn this. What the hell are you gonna do in the field if Dean gets hurt?"

"We're not in the field, dad! We're in a house-"

John interrupted again. "You keep your voice down."

With a breath, Sam started over. "If we were in the field and there were no other options I'd do it, but-"

"And how the hell are you gonna know how to do it then if you haven't had any practice?" Shrinking further into the couch, Dean watched with much anxiety as the two people he loved the most, once again butted heads.

"I can practice on material-"

"It doesn't have the same texture or give."

Sam shook his head, seemingly gaining a new wind of determination. "I'm not stitching him, dad. I'll scar him."

For a moment their father was silent. But the blood filling his face and widening of his eyes let both of his sons know that the silence was merely allowing the man time to build up to an explosion. "Sam…" And here it came. John's voice was just above a whisper, his heavy breathing the only sound giving away his rage. "…you got your brother knocked out. You kept it from me that you met, spoke with, and had contact with a ghost. You kept from all of us the information you had on the thing we were hunting. You let us waste a night on this hunt and possibly gave the ghost time to kill another victim. And now you're refusing to take care of your brother."

The lecture was met with silence as Sam stared down at the floor. After an agonizing minute, John shook his head in obvious disappointment. "You say I treated Dean like an adult when he was your age…you think, when he was thirteen, if you were injured and I told him to stitch you up…you think he'd refuse? You think _Dean_ would be arguing with me while you laid on a couch bleeding?"

The tears were visible in Sam's eyes as anger clouded his features. "Oh, right, 'cause Dean's perfect. _Dean_ would never disobey an order. _Dean_ never talked back to you. _Dean's_ just the perfect son. Well, I'm sorry dad, but I'm not Dean."

Their father looked Sam straight in the eye, speaking in a calm voice. "No, you're not."

For a moment father and son stared off as Dean shrunk even lower wondering how the hell he'd gotten dragged into the argument. He didn't like the idea of Sam stitching him either, but he trusted his father enough to know that the man probably planned on sitting right next to Sam, giving him pointers through the whole thing. It really would've been good practice for any future injuries that Sam would have to deal with. Dean shook his head, he just couldn't understand why Sam had to question their father. He had lived with the man for thirteen years, he should've known he wouldn't take defiance well…

The minute long stand off came to an end as Sam's tears finally broke free. "I hate this family!" A second later Sam was running up the stairs two at a time.

Picking up the nearby bag of ice, Dean closed his eyes, put the bag on his head, and laid back down. All that…he wondered if anyone noticed that he still needed to be stitched. Maybe he'd just do it himself.

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_Don't get all worked up just yet…you may feel differently after the next chapter…trust me...  
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_And please review! I love feedback- good or bad…_


	4. Chapter 4

_I was so happy to receive a flame-less response to that last chapter, I was worried... Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! Hopefully this chapter will help all__ the Winshesters get their point of view across..._**  
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**Sica: Chapter 4**

Hearing his father start to walk toward the stairs, Dean sat up. "Dad? I know Sammy needs to learn a lesson here, but I'm still bleeding. You think maybe you could finish yelling at him tomorrow?"

With an overwhelmed sigh, the aged man rubbed his face. "You're right, Dean. I'm sorry, kiddo."

Dean pulled the ice off his head as his father sat on the coffee table across from. Then, grabbing the first aid kit, John threaded the needle. Dean looked up at his father as the man began to stitch the burning gash on his temple. "You haven't called me kiddo in a long time."

John smiled, his focus intent on his work. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"

Dean shrugged and closed his eyes. "I gotta be honest, dad…I wasn't so thrilled about Sammy stitching me myself."

"I kind of got that from the 'dad, no'."

Dean tried his best not to move his face in response to the tickling sensation the stitches were causing. A moment later, his father continued speaking. "It's not about the stitches, Dean. I'm losing control of him…"

Dean opened his eyes. "He's growing up."

His father shook his head. "He needs to learn this stuff. I wish to God he didn't. He sees me as the bad guy…with the amount of evil out there…" Dean felt his heart begin to pound as he recognized tears in his father's eyes. "I don't want him caught off guard. I want him to know…to be fully confident, that he can handle _any_ piece of shit…any situation, no matter what. It's already touched our family. It took your mother…if it comes back…I want it to shake in fear at the sight of the two of you. When evil goes past your doors…looks into _your_ babies' nurseries…I want it to think, 'a Winchester lives there,' and then keep right on going."

Frightened by his father's passion and feelings of helplessness, Dean did the only thing he could; he made a promise. "Sammy'll be fine, dad. I learned everything you taught me. Anything tries to get Sammy, it'll have to go through me first."

Finishing off the last stitch, John looked his son straight in the eye. It was a look that Dean realized would burn itself into his memory forever. "I know that, Dean…but you can't always be there to protect him…" with a grunt, the man stood up, "…and neither can I…as much as I'd want to. He needs to be able to protect himself. He can wish all he wants that he'll never need to know any of this, and I want nothing more than for that wish to come true, but I'm not a man who hangs his hat on his dreams- not anymore. I'll hope for the best, but prepare for the worst."

Dean nodded at his father's wisdom as the man reached down a hand to help him up. Once again, standing seemed to suck all the blood out of Dean's head and he immediately fell. John caught him without any trouble and held him still until the blood decided to resume its circulation to the rest of his body. His father's voice held the sound of a smile as he spoke into Dean's ear. "I think we need to work on your ability to bob and weave."

Dean grimaced in annoyance as he waited for his vision to clear. "I bobbed and weaved just fine. I told you, the damned tree just attacked me." He looked up at his dad. "The forest's possessed you know…"

The man smiled and began helping Dean to the stairs. "You don't say? So'd you see the witch while you were in there?"

Curious, Dean shook his head. "There's a witch that lives there?"

His father nodded. "Oh yeah…heard she flies on a broom and cackles real loud. She's usually around when the trees start attacking people…of course maybe she didn't show since you hadn't met Dorothy or the Tinman yet."

Recognizing his father's humor, Dean squinted his eyes. "That is so not fair…I'm injured here."

John's face broke into a wide grin as he deposited Dean at his room. "That's the only time I get to use my best stuff. Usually you catch on too quick…sucks all the fun out of it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Great, glad my head injury could amuse you."

The man smiled back as he tapped his son's cheek with the palm of his hand. "Your mother used to say I use humor as a defense mechanism. She claimed that's how she knew when I was worried."

Uncomfortable with his father's 'heart to heart' moment, Dean tried to be reassuring. "You don't need to worry about me dad; I'm fine."

His father gave a sad laugh in response before once again looking his son in the eyes. "You're my son…I'll never stop worrying about you…whether you're injured or not…" And with that, the man turned and made his way back down the stairs to sleep on the couch.

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Sam rolled his sleeping bag out onto the floor next to his brother's bed. Technically it was Doug's bed, but Doug was currently sleeping on the pull-out couch in Keith's room while Sam and Dean shared his room. Dean got the bed because he was older- right, because that was fair... Although, Dean had given Sam the bed the past two nights because he wouldn't be getting in until later and he didn't want to wake Sam by stumbling over him in the middle of the night.

Sam stomped around as he searched for his pillow. How the hell had he ended up in this family? Maybe he had been switched at birth…maybe somewhere in Kansas there was a gun toting thirteen-year-old being forced by his parents to give up hunting and instead play soccer. That was the only logical explanation because he certainly didn't fit in where he was.

He couldn't believe his father had said that…looked at him like he was a huge disappointment for not being Dean. "I'm _not_ Dean. I'm Sam. Sorry to disappoint you. Imagine having two kids who aren't exactly alike!" Sam shook his head. "You think I need lessons? Someone should give _you_ lessons in parenting!" Letting out some of his anger, Sam threw a tissue box across the room.

The tears had resumed again. It just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Dean, the perfect son, came first. Now there'd always be someone better for Sam to be compared to. And it wasn't fair that his dad didn't like him. "What the hell did _I_ do? Am I really so bad? It's not like I'm out on the street doing drugs and robbing people!" Sam glared at the door. "You'd probably like that better though. A kid who robs people and treats people like crap would probably make a better hunter than a kid who gets straight A's and wants to have friends."

Spying the pillow under the bed, Sam pulled it out and hugged it to his chest. Crying, he lamented all the good things he had done, all the things he tried hard to achieve only to have his father think of him as a disappointment. Any other parent would've been proud. How come his father wasn't? And then Sam cried harder because deep down, despite his anger, all he really wanted was his father to be proud of him…the way he was of Dean.

Hearing voices coming toward his room, Sam quickly jumped up, shut the light, and dove into the sleeping bag. The last thing he wanted now was a continued conversation with his father.

A minute later Sam heard his door open and then close, and then felt as Dean stepped over him, laying on the bed.

"Sam?"

Closing his eyes tighter, Sam laid completely still, wishing for his brother to just go to sleep.

"Sam I know you're up, I saw the light go off in here a minute ago."

He could've fallen asleep in a minute…

"Sam, dad didn't mean it the way it came out, he's just wants you to know your stuff."

Angry, Sam pushed himself halfway up. "I knew you'd take his side."

Even in the scare light Sam could see his brother roll his eyes. "I'm not taking his side, dude. I'm just trying to explain-"

Sam interrupted. "How come you never explain _my _side? How come you never defend _me_? Excuse me for not wanting to hurt you, Dean. Like I'm such a horrible brother for not wanting to scar you."

Dean covered his face with his hands. "You have to be so freakin' dramatic? You know, between the two of you…he's thinks if you don't stitch me a demon's going to eat you for breakfast and you think if you do stitch me you'll turn me into Freddie Kruger."

Sam disagreed. "Freddie Kruger was burned…"

"My point is Sammy-"

"It's Sam…"

"-the two of you both jump to the extreme. You know what? _Neither_ of you are like me, you're both like each other."

Sam squinted his eyes. "I am nothing like him. He doesn't care about anything or anybody, just so long as whatever it is we're hunting gets dead!"

In one quick motion Dean was off the bed and holding his brother by his shirt. Sam squirmed within the tight grip, trying to push Dean's hands away with his own. "Let me go!"

Dean pulled Sam toward him so that their faces were barely two inches apart. "Now you listen to me. I've had it with your crappy attitude. Dad loves you. And you say he treats _you_ like crap? You treat _him_ like crap. And I'm sick of it. Whatever phase this is that your going through, get over it, Sam. Because right now you suck to be around."

Stung by his brother's words, Sam angrily shoved Dean away. With tears glittering in his eyes, he stared at his brother, speaking through clenched teeth. "I hate you."

Dean's flinch was barely noticeable but Sam managed to spot it. He took a little happiness from the fact that he had been able to hurt his brother…especially given the amount Dean had hurt him.

Dean's expression showed only anger as he made his way back onto the bed. "That's fine. Say what you want about me, Sammy…but you know what? No matter how pissed I am, no matter what you ever do, I would _never_ say that to you." And with that, Dean laid down and rolled over.

Brushing the angry tears off his face, Sam glared at his brother's back. "That's because you're Dean. The most perfect freakin' person in the entire world."

Silently sobbing, Sam dropped his head back onto his pillow. Now filled with guilt over what he had said to his brother, but too stubborn and angry to take it back, Sam tried to fall asleep.

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"Dean, Sam…get up guys. We're leaving in twenty…"

With a groan, Sam rolled onto his back, squinting at the light that had filtered its way through Doug's blinds. Falling asleep while sobbing had left him with a killer headache. Over to his right, he heard Dean mumble something and then climb his way off the bed. Carefully Sam watched his brother, remembering that only a few hours ago Dean had collapsed trying to stand up from the couch.

Now that sleep had washed away most of his anger, Sam felt incredibly guilty about what he had said to his brother. "Dean?"

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, and not looking all that great himself, Dean blearily looked over. Sam pushed himself up onto his elbows. "About what I said?"

Dean seemed to become more attentive after that comment and Sam felt his heart speed up in his chest. The pain in Dean's face was obvious and Sam knew it wasn't being caused by the head wound. "I was just mad; I didn't mean it."

Dean gave a small nod. "You mean you say things when you're pissed that you don't mean?"

Sam grew confused. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded again. "And sometimes they hurt other people?"

Sam became even more perplexed. Where was Dean going with this? "Yeah?"

Dean looked at him seriously. "Like I said, you and dad are a lot alike."

Sam flopped back down onto his pillow. So _maybe _it was true. Maybe they were alike…but then Sam shook his head. "We're not _that_ alike though…" Untangling himself from his sleeping bag and standing up, Sam walked over to his brother. He and his father may be alike, but at least _Sam_ was man enough to apologize for saying something he didn't mean. "I'm sorry, Dean. I don't hate you."

Dean smiled down at him. Then he draped an arm over Sam's shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Don't worry about it. I don't pay much attention to what you say anyway."

Sam laughed at his brother's lie. "Right…"

Removing his arm, Dean suddenly shoved his sibling, knocking him down onto the floor. "Better hurry up. You've gotta put that sleeping bag away too."

Shooting his brother a look, Sam rubbed his arm. One day he'd be bigger than Dean…he just knew it. And when that day came…Dean better run.

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_Short chapter, but at least there was no cliffie…The next chapter will get back to the hunt! _

_Did you like this one? Review and let me know…_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi all, messages aren't working, but please know that I am replying to everyone- you'll get it eventually (I hope). Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. If you're interested in trying to predict where this is going, from this chapter on, start paying attention to subtle, interpersonal things that are happening in the background. There are things going on that neither Sam nor Dean are aware of that may be important later. Also…_

**Warning: Sexual content, non-explicit, but implied none-the-less.**

_Shannon- Thanks for the review. I appreciate it. Don't be too hard on John just yet. His parenting skills may be lacking, but deep down he really does love his son and that will be apparent later._

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**Sica: Chapter 5**

Dean played with his beer bottle as he listened to his father and Dennis discuss where they were going with the hunt. It was turning out to be quite an interesting hunt as their morning research had uncovered the fact that Trevor Macks had in fact gone missing in Sica Hollow Park, which added credit to Sam's story of seeing the ghost there. However, it did nothing to explain why the ghost had been seen standing over numerous dead bodies in Roy Lake State Park, miles away from Sica Hollow. Especially since, according to Sammy, Trevor was unable to leave a specific area of Sica Hollow.

"Well I think it's obvious that the ghost was lying. It is a ghost…" Dennis had led them to this hole-in-the-wall bar to discuss the hunt further, and of course get some beers.

Dean smiled, he liked local hole-in-the-wall bars, these places wouldn't bother him about his age…not that he didn't have the fake ID to get by them if they did…

"I don't work on assumptions, Dennis. Ghosts have been known to mix lies with the truth-"

"I wouldn't call it an _assumption_, John. The ghost said it couldn't leave and yet it's been seen all over another park. Therefore, it's lying. That's a fact."

"What would it have to gain out of talking to Sammy?" Dean looked up as Keith spoke; he had been wondering the same thing.

"It's Sam." Dean resisted shaking his head as he caught his brother's dejected mumble. Luckily for Sam, Dean seemed to be the only one to have heard it. The "it's Sam" comment would only have put Sammy further down on the John Winchester shitlist and right now, Sam was in deep enough.

So far Sam had spent the day moping, unhappy that he was still in trouble with their father for not obeying orders last night. He had yet to receive his punishment and the impending doom of consequence was clearly hanging over his head. Dean knew what Sam was worried about too. This morning Dennis had chimed in with what he would do if one of his sons had acted the way Sam had. Apparently, the constitution of a pig's skin closely mirrored a human's. Dennis had suggested that if Sam didn't want to stitch a human, he could practice by borrowing one of the piglets on the farm, cutting the animal, and then stitching the cut. He suggested doing this about ten times…if the animal survived, then Sam clearly had treated the wounds correctly and could move on to stitching humans with confidence.

That conversation had happened at around eight in the morning and since that time Sammy had barely uttered a word, aside from random comments under his breath. Dean knew his father had no intention of forcing Sam to torture a baby pig, but he definitely wanted Sam to understand that as cruel of a man Sam thought he was, he could be a hell of a lot worse.

"Trevor grew up around here…the ghost would know our family hunts supernatural creatures. It could've figured out we'd be going after it next. It'd be a good plan to separate the weakest one and try to convert him."

"I'm not weak."

All eyes moved to Sam as Dennis explained his remark. "It was a relative term, Sam. Compared to other thirteen year olds, I'm sure you're not. Compared to Keith, Doug, and Dean…you're at least a foot shorter than them, and you look young, even for your age."

Sam looked up. "I'm smart…even for _Dean's_ age."

Dean inwardly winced. Did Sammy really think he was stupid? He hoped not. Yeah, Sammy was smart and yeah, he got better grades. But the kid couldn't be so deluded to think that an A in eighth grade was equal to a C in twelfth. And regardless, Sam's proficiency in pre-algebra really didn't hold any bearing in the hunting world.

"Sam, there's a difference between knowing biology and knowing the way a ghost works. Dennis is right; you were the least experienced of the bunch. You'd be the easiest to convince that the ghost is a victim, rather than a murderer." Dean nodded in agreement with his father's statement.

"Obviously he'd be the easiest to convince; he _was_ convinced."

Dean watched his brother glare over at Doug. "Then how do you explain the fat man? He killed Trevor in front of me…and I _know_ Trevor was afraid of him."

"Sam, you want to not refer to the ghost by name, if you can…try to keep what you're hunting impersonal."

Seeing that Sam was about to voice a nasty comment in response to Dennis' advice, Dean cut him off. "I hear you guys on the whole 'ghosts lie' front, but before we frame the whole hunt around it, is there any possibility that Trevor's spirit could be trapped and still show up at Roy Lake? I mean, what if he didn't mean he was trapped in Sica Hollow? What if he meant he was trapped to the other ghost somehow? Then if Chubby went to Roy Lake, Trevor'd have to go with him."

Sam's eyes shined in gratitude and their father nodded as he squeezed Dean's shoulder. "Nice thinking, Dean."

Dean nodded back before taking another swallow of his beer. See? He was smart too.

Dennis shook his head. "It's not a bad idea, but it doesn't explain the fact that all the victims knew, and were not well liked by Trevor when he was alive."

Doug agreed and added more. "Yeah, and not to mention there were some sketchy deaths _before_ Trevor died too." He pointed at his brother. "You remember Carl said something nasty to him; next day the sheriff found him floating in the lake?"

Keith shrugged. "That's not saying much though…Trevor was an outcast. People avoided him, said things behind his back, taunted him…_most_ people weren't nice to the kid."

Doug became more animated. "All the more reason he'd have to become malicious."

Clearly consumed with his own thoughts, Dennis interrupted his son's discussion. "I'm trying to remember…didn't Trevor come forward the next day saying he saw Carl's murder?"

Doug nodded. "Yep…sketchy."

This time John spoke up. "What did the boy say happened?"

All three of the Gervichs shook their heads as Dennis answered. "It was kept confidential. No details were leaked and considering it wasn't supernatural, I stayed out of it."

Understanding and frustration overtook John's expression and Dean threw in his two cents. "They must still have the files somewhere. I say we go get them."

Dennis seemed to consider the idea before turning to his eldest son. "Katie still after you?"

Keith looked surprised by the question. "What are you crazy? Dad…you're _way_ out of the loop."

Dennis rolled his eyes. "Well bring me into the loop then."

Doug answered for his brother. "Katie hates Keith's guts since he screwed her and then got drunk the next night, sharing the details of Katie's anatomy with the entire town."

Keith growled at his brother. "It wasn't that bad. She made a bigger deal out of it than it was."

Doug's eyebrows rose. "Man, I was there for your verbal diarrhea…" He turned to Dean. "Let's put it this way, I now know that Katie's right nipple is larger than her left and that she's got a mole down-"

Keith interrupted. "It's not a mole. It's a beauty mark."

Dennis waved them off. "Shall we just say that she won't be giving you any information then?"

Keith stared at his father. "Yeah…I think it's safe to make that assumption…"

Thoroughly confused, Dean was about to question his new comrades, but his father beat him to it. "Who's Katie?"

Dennis explained. "Sheriff's daughter, as well as the sheriff's office secretary. She handles all the files."

Dean watched as his father turned to him seeming to study him. Self-conscious under his father's stare, Dean squirmed. "What?"

John shifted his attention to Keith. "You up for getting into a fight with Dean?"

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"I can't believe I agreed to this…"

Dean rolled his eyes as he watched Keith pace down the alleyway next to the sheriff's station. "Dude, relax."

Clearly agitated, Keith spun around, pointing a finger at Dean. "Don't tell me to relax. You have the easy part. I get to piss off the sheriff's daughter…again, get punched in the face, and then break into the sheriff's office. I get caught, or daddy decides to show during any of this, and I'm screwed."

Dean waved him off. "Sheriff's not here, man. He's at your house listening to your father make up whatever story he's going to tell him."

Keith took a deep breath and nodded. A noise sounded from the parking lot and both boys peered around the building's wall. A beautiful girl in her early twenties wearing a high-cut skirt and a low-cut blouse got out of her car and began walking toward the sheriff's office. Keith sighed. "Okay, that's her. You ready?"

Dean broke out into a huge grin. "That's her? Man…"

The other hunter glared. "Keep your mind focused on the plan."

Dean shot him a look. "The plan is for me to get it on with her. I'm just starting early in my mind."

Shaking his head, Keith left Dean to go pick a fight with the girl.

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Sam stared at the dead pig in front of him. It had been two hours since Keith and Dean left to get the sheriff's files, and only fifteen minutes since Keith had called Dennis giving him the all clear message to let the sheriff go back to his office.

Sam sighed as he began to stitch the last gash in the dead pig. While his brother was out, probably having sex, here he was stuck in a storage shed cutting and stitching a dead pig. It was gross. To make it worse, after he finished the stitches he got to skin, gut, and then barbeque the animal for dinner. He supposed he should be grateful. If Dennis was his father he'd be cutting and stitching a _live_ pig right now. As it was, he thought for sure his own father was going to make him do that. In fact, when they were leaving the bar and his dad said, "Hurry it up, Sammy. There's a pig at home waiting for you," he almost didn't get into the car. It was only because Dean assured him that their father wouldn't make him cut a live pig that he finally agreed. He trusted Dean. His dad? Not so much. After all, the man was not always rational. Who knew when he was going to get mad just because Sam asked the wrong question?

What was _really_ annoying though was the way he was left out of everything, left out and not taken seriously. There all those "hunters" were, in the bar discussing the ghost like they knew him, when not one of them had even been able to _find_ Trevor yet. Some "hunters" they were.

Sam picked up the pig and threw it onto the carving table. Then he put the large, elbow length, blue rubber gloves on his hands. Picking up a knife he slowly cut the animal's midsection open, grimacing in disgust as the guts spilled out of the opening. Sam looked away, holding his breath as he began gutting the animal.

As he worked, his thoughts returned to the hunt and the lack of respect he had been receiving from his family and housemates. Okay, so technically he was the least experienced. Still, he had been hunting for over three years now, long enough to know, as his father put it, "how a ghost works". Not to mention the fact that he had been _possessed_ by this particular ghost. Not that anyone knew that…Sam figured that piece of knowledge would only serve to upset his family and have the Gervichs thinking even less of him. Because really, what kind of moron gets possessed by a ghost?

Touching around the inside of the pig's ribcage and feeling nothing, Sam decided that he had finished the gutting process. Moving on, he began skinning the animal, being extra careful not to ruin his carefully sewn stitches. He still had to present them to his father.

So far he had been lucky that no one had spotted the bruises on his back and arms. The cold Dakota weather encouraged long sleeves, which made the marks less easy to notice. At first he hadn't mentioned them because he figured Dean and his dad would flip out knowing he had been hurt while separated from Dean. But at this point, he figured the fact that he was attacked when separated would only add credit to Dennis' theory that Sam was weak. Never mind the fact that he was able to get out of the deadly situation. Could someone who was weak do that? No.

Thinking of Dennis, Sam squinted his eyes. "I bet you couldn't do it."

"Couldn't do what?"

Sam gasped and spun toward the door. "I was just talking to myself."

His father held an amused look and he entered the shed. "I thought I'd see how you're doing." The man overlooked the scene and then smiled. "You gutted it without looking at it didn't you?"

Sam furrowed his brow in defense. "No…"

His dad nodded slowly, biting his lip as though to keep from laughing. "Well then we'll just leave the bladder and testicles for you to eat."

Finally looking over at the pig, Sam made a face. He had checked up into the ribcage…he forgot to check down below.

"This is good work, Sammy."

"It's Sam," he replied as he looked over to where his father was holding up the sutured skin. Once again his correction was ignored.

"You could use some more work in pulling less skin into the stitch, but overall these aren't bad. Probably wouldn't scar much."

Sam just glared. 'Probably wouldn't scar much'…yeah, he was sure Dean would've loved that sentiment on his face. His father's review had only cemented the fact that he had made the right decision not stitching Dean last night.

Speaking of Dean, "Is Dean back yet?"

Putting down the pigskin, John nodded. "I heard the car pull up about a minute ago. I'm going to go in and meet them now. Finish the gutting and then meet us in the kitchen."

Anxious to hear what his brother and Keith had found out, Sam moved back to the pig. "Yes, sir."

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_I know that wasn't the most exciting...but you know, plot development and all that. __It'll pick up soon. __And yes, I did get the joy of researching how to gut a pig..._

_I love to hear your thoughts... _


	6. Chapter 6

_The mystery is well under way here. Follow the clues and REALLY pay attention to the behind the scenes inter-personal stuff. It'll be important later._

**Warning: Sexual content, non-explicit, but implied none-the-less.**

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**Sica: Chapter 6**

Dean sat down in the Gervichs' kitchen, anxious to share what he and Keith had learned. What it all meant, he wasn't really sure, but he knew it was important. Two minutes later, his father entered the room and Doug spoke. "Okay, everybody's here now. What'd you guys find out?"

Just as Dean was about to correct Doug regarding everybody being there, Keith, sporting a brand new black eye, threw the copies of the files he made on the kitchen table.

Dennis reprimanded his son. "Keith, what the hell were you thinking? You can't _steal_ the files! You were just supposed to read them and get back to us. The sheriff's not an idiot. When he finds these missing he'll put two and two together real fast."

Keith rolled his eyes at his father's concern. "Dad. Give me a break. I'm not twelve. You think I don't know better than not to steal from the sheriff's office?"

Dennis shook his head confused. "But the files-"

"-are copies."

Doug looked impressed. "Wow, you had time to make copies?"

Dean smirked as Keith grinned down at him. "Well, I didn't think I would…and then when I heard Dean and Katie come into the front office I thought for sure I was screwed but, uh, well let's just say there was more than enough time to make the copies and more than enough noise to cover the sound of the machine."

Dean leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. "Damn straight there was enough time. I'm not a legend for nothing you know…"

His father made a face of disgust. "Jesus Christ, Dean."

Dean just continued to grin. At the very least, Keith and Doug seemed to be impressed with his skills.

Shaking his head, Dennis focused his attention on the files. "So do we have to read those, or can you just sum it up for us?"

Dean cut Keith off before he could answer. "I think we should wait for Sammy. Otherwise we'll have to tell the story all over again when he gets here."

His father's face looked grim. "He'll be in in a minute. He's just finishing up with the pig. Start telling us, you can sum it up for him later."

Dean looked down, biting his lip. He wasn't going to outwardly disagree with his father _especially_ in front of another hunter. He would never disrespect his father like that, but he really felt that Sammy should be there for the whole story. After all, as the only one who saw Trevor and the man, Sam was a crucial source of information.

Luckily, Dean didn't have to find a polite way to disagree with his father; Keith did it for him. "Uh, I actually agree with Dean. Given the info we found, I think Sam really needs to be here."

Dean didn't dare look at his father's reaction- it may not have been _he_ who disagreed with his dad, but _someone_ did and that usually did not sit well with John Winchester.

Dennis, however, seemed to accept his son's opinion. The man nodded over to Doug. "Go tell Sam to get in here." And then, as a second thought, he turned to John with a somewhat smug expression. "If that's alright with you, John."

Dean lifted his head and watched his father stare at Dennis. His father's look was completely unreadable. There probably would have been a second of emotion in the expression at some point, but Dean looked up too late to see it. Maybe his father was angry…no…he was sizing Dennis up? No, maybe he was being intimidating…but then his dad _always _seemed intimidating. Whatever the expression was, it was directed at Dennis, but Dean had no idea what prompted it…

Dean practically jumped as his father turned his eyes to him. "Dean, your brother's in the shed. Tell him to leave the pig for now."

Dean stood up, nodded, and then left the kitchen for the shed. That was odd… Was his father wary of Doug? Dean honestly couldn't figure out what reason he'd have for that, but clearly the man didn't want Doug telling Sam to come in. Maybe he didn't think Sam would believe Doug? Or maybe his dad thought that Sam wouldn't override his father's orders with a message coming from Dennis? Dean scoffed. If that was the case, his father was giving Sam a lot more credit than the kid warranted. He seriously doubted that Sam would put thought into who was delivering the message given the opportunity to leave his punishment and join an adult discussion.

Dropping the thoughts of his father's strange behavior, Dean entered the shed just in time to see his brother castrate the dead pig. "Aw dude. That's just wrong."

Still holding the pig's testicles in his hand, Sam smiled up at him. "Rocky mountain oysters, Dean?"

Dean stepped back, grimacing in disgust. "Man, put that shit down."

Sam, a devious, playful look on his face, began slowly approaching his brother. "You sure you don't want to try 'em? They're supposed to increase your libido by thirty percent…"

Dean began walking around the shed backwards to keep a distance between himself and the objects in his brother's hand. "I really think I'm good in that area. Feel free to eat them yourself though…maybe they'll finally get yours to drop…"

Sam stopped walking and squinted his eyes. "You know, I may not be obsessed with sex like you are, but I can shoot just fine, thank you."

Dean scrunched his entire face. That was WAY too much information. "Dude…if it doesn't involve a girl, you don't share it."

Sam smiled as he dropped the last of the pig's organs in the gutbucket. "I thought you'd be flattered. I'm just learning from your example. After all, aren't you the one who shares all your records?"

Dean glared at his brother. "First, there's always a girl there. And second, that's different. I'm older. I'm trying to give you a goal so you know what you should be aiming for."

Sam nodded as he removed his gloves. "And what goal's that? Male-slutdom?"

Dean growled. "Dude, I am not a slut. I have standards…for myself and for the women I-"

Sam interrupted with a sigh. "Dean, dad's waiting for you inside. He's gonna want to know what you found out."

Dean gestured to the door. "Why the hell do you think I'm here? Dad wants you there, too. He says to leave the pig."

Sam looked confused. "He waited for me? Why?"

Dean turned toward the door. "'Cause Keith and I think you should be there to hear what we found out."

Immediately Sam jumped and ran out the door. He was practically skipping as they walked back to the house. "It was the fat man wasn't it…who killed Carl…"

Dean paused to sniff the air. "Gross. You smell like dead pig."

Sam whined impatiently. "Deeean…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes…according to Trevor, Chubby did the killing."

If possible, Sam became even more animated. "That must be why the fat guy killed him! Because he could testify against him 'cause he saw Carl's murder!"

Dean stopped his brother before re-entering the house. "Wipe that look off your face and act surprised. Dad finds out I told you while he had to wait, I'm dead."

Turning serious, Sam nodded, and Dean just hoped that his brother didn't let anything slip.

He didn't need to worry though, Sam played his surprised, uninformed part well as Keith and Dean read Trevor's eye-witness account out of the old police file.

"So there really is a fat dude…"

Sam's eyes shot daggers at Doug. "What, you thought I just made it up?!"

Doug held his hands up in defense as John put a calming hand on his younger son's shoulder. The older man spoke to Dennis. "You ever hear of this thing before now?"

Dennis shook his head as Keith tried to focus the hunt. "I think now the question is, is the fat man a ghost, is he even dead, or what else is he?"

Sam looked over at him. "He can't be alive, he killed a ghost with his bare hands. Live people don't relive murders with ghosts…do they?"

John shook his head. "Not that I've heard of…"

Remembering something from last night, Dean questioned his brother. "Wait, Sam, didn't you say that you _bit_ Chubby?"

Sam nodded and in almost the same instant, John flipped his son around by the shoulders and stared down at him. "What do you mean you bit him?" Before Sam could answer, their father's dark eyes turned to Dean. "Why the hell didn't you tell me about this?"

Dean's eyes widened. Why the hell _didn't_ he tell his dad about that? Shrinking into his chair, Dean's face held a pathetic/hopeful expression. "It slipped my mind?"

His father's breathing became louder and Dean squirmed. He was now being faced with the 'rage stare'. He was in serious trouble…

Suddenly, Sam angrily pushed his father's hands off his shoulders. "Why are yelling at him? He was unconscious. He's lucky he's okay now. I'm thirteen, dad. I'm responsible for myself."

John pointed down at his son. "Your brother knew that you came in dangerous contact with…whatever the hell Chubby is…it should've been the first thing out of his mouth when he saw me."

Dean bit his lip. His father was right. It _should've_ been the first thing out of his mouth, but at the time he was slightly more concerned about getting in trouble for losing Sam. The more details he shared about Sam's ghostly encounter, the more obvious it would be that it wasn't just that Dean was unconscious…Sam had gone missing for an hour.

Sam didn't seem to agree. "He had a head injury! You want to blame somebody? Blame me! I knew what happened, I _didn't_ have a concussion, and I _still_ didn't tell you."

Dean's eyes widened to their capacity. He appreciated that Sam would defend him, but Sam had just yelled at and disrespected their father…and in front of other hunters. Dean quickly wracked his brain for _any_ possible way to fix this situation, but there really didn't seem to be any. Dean's heart pounded at the look of fury on their father's face.

When their father spoke, it was calm. "Sit down."

Obvious realizing that he had gone too far, an almost frightened Sam abruptly sat in a nearby chair.

Dennis cleared his throat. "You want us to give you a minute to deal with him, John?"

Dean furrowed his brow. Give him a minute? For what? To yell at Sam? Leaving the room wouldn't change anything. His father's yelling could be heard in nearby _states_, much less the same room.

Then, to add to his confusion, a new look crossed his father's face. The fury was still there, but it had changed just a little, and Dean made a note of the way his father moved his hand placing it between Sam and Dennis. John held the look with his comrade for what seemed to be a long time before quietly replying. "No need to go anywhere. Sam's going to tell us what happened when he bit Trevor's murderer."

Dean didn't miss Dennis' annoyed expression followed by his father's challenging stare. What the hell was going on?

With a sigh, and noticeably shaking hands, Sam began talking. "Well, at first I couldn't tell if the fat guy was after me or Trevor, so when he came toward us, I bit him…and he bled."

Their dad looked surprised. "He bled?"

Sam nodded and Dennis spoke. "What else can you tell us, Sam?"

Sam turned in his chair so that he was facing their father's friend before shrugging. "That's about it…no, wait! He was afraid of my knife, too."

The man nodded. "What's your knife made out of?"

"Stainless steel."

Once again John put his hands on his son's shoulders and Sam looked straight up at him from the chair. Their father seemed somewhat surprised, or possibly confused. "It was afraid of your pocketknife?"

Sam nodded. Dennis held out his hand. "Let me see it."

Sam handed it over. The man seemed to inspect the knife carefully before looking over at John, confused. "You bless this?"

Their father shook his head. "No. It was a quick buy with his own money. It's not for hunting."

Dean rolled his eyes. That was a very brief explanation for a very long story. In truth their father hated that knife. He insisted that Sam carry something on him at all times, when he wasn't in school, for protection. Sam didn't want to. Ideally, their dad wanted him carrying something either iron or silver…so Sam chose steel. Because, if he was going to _have_ to carry a knife, damnit, it was going to be a _normal_ knife.

Dennis' voice interrupted Dean's thoughts. "If he bled and is afraid of a steel knife, it sounds like this guy's alive."

Sam shook his head. "But then why would he be reliving Trevor's murder?"

Doug shrugged. "Possession? Maybe the fat dude's possessed."

Dennis smiled and clapped his son's back. "Nice thinking, Doug. If the guy's possessed by a ghost or a demon, he could be reliving the events."

As Dean considered the idea, he noticed that his father seemed unconvinced saying, "That still doesn't explain why he'd be afraid of a knife."

Dennis nodded slowly. "Maybe it didn't want to lose its host. Maybe it's not a powerful spirit and is afraid that once it loses its host, it won't be able to infect another."

Keith interrupted. "Before we go on with the theories, Dean and I found something else." All eyes turned and Keith continued. "When Trevor's parents were found dead a few months ago, the police commendered all their stuff." Keith held up a file. "Trevor had apparently drawn hundreds of pictures of the fat dude killing Carl. I made copies so Sam could look at them and tell us if it's the same guy."

Immediately Sam stretched out a hand and Keith handed over the file. Dean grimaced remembering the pictures Trevor had drawn of Chubby- the dude was fugly. But all disturbing memories of the drawings ran out of Dean's head as he watched his brother's face lose color. "Sammy? What is it?"

Sam looked up but looked too stunned to speak. Their father squatted next to him, presumably to get a better view of Sam and the drawings. "Is it the man you saw?"

Sam's jaw hung wide open as he stumbled for words. "D-d-dad, the guy's wearing the same clothes." Sam pointed to the drawing. "This is him. He looks exactly the same. How could that be? He bleeds. How could he not age or anything?"

Dean joined his brother in staring at their father for answers. Seemingly having none, John looked to him fellow hunter. "I don't like not knowing what this thing is. You got any thoughts?"

Dennis raised his brows before shrugging. "Not really. We need more information, more time for research-"

Doug interrupted. "But dad we don't have time, these ghosts or whatever could kill another person at any time."

Dennis nodded. "Which is why I say we take out the ghost we do know about and then figure out the other one after that." He looked over to John. "Whatever's going on, all the people who died were people that Trevor knew. Obviously this thing's connected to him somehow."

John nodded and then turned to Sam. "You know where the kid died right?"

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah, but Trevor's not the bad guy here…"

Their father sighed. "Sam…Trevor's a ghost."

Sam stood up. "But the other ghost, or whatever, is worse."

Doug interrupted. "You don't know that."

Sam went to say something back, but John turned his son back towards him. "Whether or not the other ghost is worse is irrelevant. Dennis is right, these deaths are related to Trevor and either way, he needs to be destroyed. He's a _ghost_. If it's supernatural, we kill it, end of story."

* * *

_More plot development here, but the next chapter and from then on, is non-stop action! And of course, hurt!Sam is right around the corner...  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Much longer chapter this time, and it'll be that way for awhile. Lots going on from here on in… And it's pretty much the last chance to figure out the mystery completely on your own. The next chapter will reveal a lot!_

_Thank you all so much for the positive feedback- you guys are so supportive. Thank you._

* * *

**Sica: Chapter 7**

"Man…how can you eat that stuff?"

Sam watched his brother attempt some reply through the rock candy in his mouth.

"Rock candy for rock salt hunts. I eat in themes."

Sam shook his head. He didn't understand how his brother, and everyone else around him, could be so cavalier about what they were doing. "Because they don't think it's wrong, that's why," Sam answered himself. To be honest, he was still pissed. He got almost no respect from his fellow hunters, his family included. The fat man was the _real_ villain here, and rather than go after him, they were going after the ghost of one of its victims. To make it worse, nobody even seemed to _consider_ listening to Sam's opinion on the subject…despite the fact that he was the only one who had had any contact with either ghost.

They were back in Sica Hollow State Park. The ancient evil grounds with the thick air, red water, and life-less atmosphere.

"Pick up the pace, Sammy. I don't want you falling too far behind."

"It's Sam." Sam growled out the response to his father even as he began a jog to catch up. He was currently bringing up the rear of their little hunting party, shotgun in hand. He noted that his dad didn't seem to be telling Dean to _slow down_, despite the fact that he, Keith, and Doug were at least thirty feet ahead…

"Sam!"

Sam quickly spun towards the whispering voice, the hair on the back of his neck instinctively prickling up. Noting the owner of the voice, Sam quickly looked around before jumping between two thick bushes. "Trevor!"

Trevor held his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels. On the ghost's neck, Sam could see bruises, one in the shape of a man's hand. Sam nodded. It was 11:30 pm now, which meant Trevor would have "died" about six hours ago.

Trevor leaned in as he whispered to his new friend. "What's with all the guns?"

Sam bit his lip. Trevor seemed like a nice kid, but how would he take it knowing that he was about to be destroyed? Apparently though, the expression on Sam's face said it all.

"Are you guys looking for me? Is it because I went in you?"

Sam shook his head as he tried to think of a nice way to explain what they were doing.

"Sam?"

Sam looked at the ghost and filled with guilt taking in the frightened boy's face.

Trevor nodded to the gun. "Are you gonna shoot me?"

The ghost looked terrified. Apparently Trevor was unaware that, as a ghost, he really couldn't be harmed. Although, Sam could understand why the boy might be confused about that given the fact that he was being strangled to death every night.

Sam tried to be reassuring. "You're already dead, Trevor. You can't be shot."

Trevor looked confused and then relieved. "Oh, right."

"SAM!"

Sam whirled back toward the bushes as he heard his father call his name. "Shit. I'm dead."

Trevor chuckled. "No, actually, _I'm_ dead."

Sam couldn't help but laugh back. Then he turned to the ghost. "I've gotta go."

The ghost shook his head. "Wait! I've been thinking! You remember when I went in you and things changed? I wasn't trapped anymore? I was thinking, I could go in you again and you could get me out of this forest. Like put me in a graveyard or something."

Sam vehemently shook his head. "Trevor, no. Besides, if my family gets done with what they plan tonight then you'll-"

"SAM!"

Sam ducked down as he heard his father walk passed the bushes. He had to deal with Trevor quickly and then get back to the hunting party. Looking up, Sam noticed that Trevor had moved back several feet. He mouthed to his new friend. "What are you doing?"

Then, with wide-eyed realization, Sam watched as Trevor hopped up and began running full speed toward his body. He was about to yell "no" when the impact knocked him through the bushes and flat on his back.

Trying to regain his senses, and the ability to breathe, Sam laid sprawled out on the dirt trail. Looking straight up, he admired how beautiful the sky here really was, especially given that there were no lights. Even the incredibly high treetops were beautiful.

"Sam…"

Sam squinted as his father's head moved in, blocking the picturesque view.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Don't tell him…please?" Sam's heart rate sped up in response to Trevor's fear. This was ridiculous. With a grunt, Sam made his way back onto his feet.

His father set an angry glare upon him. "What the hell is wrong with you? Where the hell were you?"

"I thought I saw somethi-"

"Well then you signal us and _we_ check it out."

Sam huffed at that. He was more than capable of "checking things" out himself. Here he was _forced_ to hunt, forced to be in this state, forced to be destroying a ghost that he didn't think needed to be destroyed, and in the midst of all that, he was still treated like an infant. "I checked it out just fine myself. It was a false alarm anyway."

He had decided. His father, the Gervichs, even Dean thought of him as a child. They thought he was weak, that he needed to learn a lot more, that his intelligence only applied to books, and that he couldn't handle things himself. Well he was thirteen now- and he no longer needed a babysitter. And what pissed him off even more was that Dean was _never_ treated this way. When Dean was thirteen, he was not only left alone, but also left in charge of Sam. Enough was enough. They weren't going to listen to him about this hunt, he'd just have to handle the whole thing himself and _prove_ to them that he was worthy of their respect.

Sam's mental tirade came to an end as his father grabbed him by the upper arm and began pulling him. "Let go of me!"

Stopping in his tracks, and flipping Sam around to face him, John bent down, but did not let go. "You listen to me right now. This isn't a game. This forest is old and it's evil. _Anything_ can be out there right now. You want to play the part of the rebellious teenager? That's fine, but when we're hunting you do _what_ I say _when_ I say it. You got that?"

Wincing at the pressure that remained on his arm, Sam growled his response. "I got it," he waited for his father to release him and start walking ahead before he added, "_sir_."

For a moment John stopped walking and Sam thought perhaps he might turn around, but instead his father returned to his quick stride. Once again, Sam found himself at the tail of the hunting party, jogging to catch up.

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Finally, after an hour of hiking in the dark, the six hunters reached Trevor's rock. Dennis turned to Sam. "Okay, this where it happened?"

Sam shook his head and pointed toward the trail he had made while running through the bushes. "There's a meadow up that way."

Dennis gestured toward the trail. "Well, lead the way, Sammy."

Excited at the prospect of "leading," Sam sprung forward, only to feel his father's hand grab his shoulder. "I'll go first, Sam you'll be right behind me telling me if I need to turn, and Dean, I want you in back of him."

Sam clenched his teeth in frustration. "Dad, it'll be faster if I just go first. I know where I'm going. And it's not like I haven't met these ghosts head on before."

He knew he was pushing it as his father had already given him the "do as I say" speech, but Dennis seemed to be on his side…

"Sam, it may surprise you to know this, but I'm not exactly thrilled at the fact that you've _done this before_." The man looked him straight in the eye. "You're behind me."

Sam glared and took up his position behind his father. Then, as if they were on an army march, the party began its hike up to the meadow. Along the way Sam held a silent conversation with Trevor. "Wow, you're dad's almost as scary as mine…"

Sam answered in his head. "He's mostly hot air."

"My dad yells a lot too. I guess he could be worse. He never hits me, but if I really make him mad, he'll rip up all my school work and notebooks and throw out all my stuff."

Sam grimaced, affected by Trevor's painful feelings from the memory. Sparing Sam, Trevor changed the subject. "So when you burn my bones…I won't be trapped here?"

Sam shook his head as he silently answered. "How did you know we were gonna burn your bones?"

Trevor's response was simple. "I'm in your head."

Sam nodded; that made sense. "I don't know what will happen after we burn them, but hopefully you'll get to move on…"

Sam felt Trevor's fear well up. Apparently he hadn't been very reassuring.

Finally, they reached the meadow. Keith looked over to him. "Okay, now what?"

Sam shrugged and pointed to the place where he saw Trevor die. "He died there, but the fat guy probably dragged him somewhere 'cause that's an open area."

Dennis nodded. "All right, everybody fan out, check the perimeter of the meadow for anything suspicious. We all move clockwise."

Sam moved to take his area of the meadow when his father called out. "Sam, stay next to your brother."

Sam stopped and frowned at the tree in front of him. It was like one thing after another. Dean ran up to him. "Hey Sammy, we starting with this area here?"

Sam shot his brother a sideline glare. "It's Sam."

Dean held up his hands in defense. "Whoa. What the hell's your problem?"

"Guys, quit yappin' and move your asses."

Sam gestured in the direction of his father's rude call as an answer to his brother's question. As usual, Dean defended the man. "Oookay. So dad's in a bad mood too then. What'd you do?"

Sam just shook his head and focused on his search. Of course Dean would assume it was _Sam_ who did something wrong. The perfect son could only have the perfect father.

They all worked in silence, with the exception of the two Gervich boys who shot light-hearted insults back and forth at each other as they explored the shrubs surrounding the meadow. It had been ten minutes now, and Trevor's body was nowhere to be found. Even Trevor, himself, was of no help seeing as how he had died before his body was dragged somewhere. Sam thought to mention that wherever Trevor awoke was probably where his body was, but Trevor just replied that he always woke up back at the rock…and there had never been a body there.

After a half hour of searching, all six hunters had come up empty. Obviously the fat man had moved the body somewhere else. Sam turned to face the others. "You think he put the body in a totally different place?"

Doug gave a short laugh. "You think? Gee, you _are_ smart, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes. How was he supposed to know that the man had carried the body elsewhere? Then, he had an idea. "We can come back tomorrow around 5:30…we can watch the replay of Trevor's death and then follow the guy to wherever he hid the body."

Within him Trevor's fear skyrocketed and Sam had to fight to keep his body from reacting. "I don't want to. You said you'd help me."

Sam pointed out to Trevor that he said nothing of the sort and Trevor had entered him, once again, uninvited. The ghost became quiet, but Sam could feel the boy's disappointment and terror in every part of his body.

"That's not a bad plan, Sammy." Dennis seemed to be agreeing with him a lot today- go figure.

His father, on the other hand, appeared to be blocking him at every turn. "Maybe. I still don't like going after something that I know nothing about."

Dennis nodded. "We can plan it out later. Right now, since we're not making any progress, I think we should get the hell out of this forest."

All five of the other hunters nodded. Hearing Doug begin to gripe about another boring, useless night, Sam turned to respond. The fat man was standing beside Doug.

"Doug, look out!" Lifting his shotgun, Sam immediately sent a round of rock salt through the air, through the fat man, and into Doug.

Before anyone could blink, Doug was laid out on the ground; the sound of the gun, swallowed by the thick forest air.

Sam could only stare at the scene through shocked wide eyes. His shot must have pulled too much to the right, and what was worse, the fat man was still there.

Immediately Keith ran to his brother's side and Dennis walked over ripping the shotgun from Sam's hand. The man said nothing but the look he sent Sam's father sent chills down Sam's spine.

As Dennis went to join his sons, John marched over to Sam. Once again grabbing him by the arm, John spun his son toward him. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you? What the HELL, Sam?!"

Sam just stared at his father. Okay, his shot was wide, but it should have been obvious why he took it. And why wasn't anyone doing anything about Chubby? Checking over, Sam noted with apprehension that the fat man was no longer standing on the other side of the meadow by Doug, but now he was in the middle of the meadow, only ten feet from Sam.

"Look at me, damnit!"

Sam turned back to his enraged father.

"What the hell were you thinking shooting Doug?"

Sam shook his head. "I wasn't aiming for Doug! The fat man was right next to him! I tried to aim to the side…"

John had already stopped listening, turning instead to his older son. "You see anything?"

Dean shook his head. "I wasn't facing that way 'til Sammy yelled."

Sam pointed to the middle of the field. "Dad! He's right there!"

John followed his son's eyeline before standing and looking around. The man turned back to Dean who merely shrugged.

Sam pointed again. "Dad. Right there. He's standing in the middle of the meadow."

This time John turned back to him and Sam knew from his father's eyes that he didn't see Chubby. Sam stepped back in fear. "You can't see him? But he's right there…"

As if to cement the fact that Sam was the only one who could see the overweight ghost, Keith, Dennis, and Doug walked right through him… and right up to Sam.

Sam cringed looking at what looked like red burn marks on the right side of Doug's face and neck. "What the hell is your problem asshole?! You trying to scar me, kill me, or blind me?"

Sam looked down. "I was trying to save your life. The fat man was right next to you."

This time Doug looked scared. "What?! Did you get 'im?"

Sam shook his head, still looking at the floor. Above him, he heard his father sigh. "He still there, Sam?"

Sam looked up and nodded to his father. The fat man was still standing in the middle of the field. At least he wasn't coming closer.

Keith, Doug, and Dennis all looked behind them and then around the meadow, clearly looking for Chubby. When they couldn't find him, Dennis glared down at Sam. "You trying to cover your ass? I'll buy that this hunt's got you jumpy, but then admit you're not ready to be out here rather than just making shit up."

Sam looked up angrily. "I'm not making it up. He's standing right there."

Dennis turned to John. "That's it, John. I've minded my own business…my sons wouldn't be caught dead talking to me the way he talks to you. But it's your family, your business, so I shut it. But your kid's affecting mine now-"

"Dad." All eyes turned to Keith as he interrupted his father while holding up a blinking contraption. "EMF's through the roof."

For a moment everyone was silent and Sam gave a small sigh of relief that at least there was _some_ proof that the fat man was there…but then, the EMF could have been going off because of Trevor too. That made Sam think. Maybe the reason that only he could see Chubby was because only Trevor could see Chubby and Trevor was in him. But then that didn't make sense either because he had seen the fat man yesterday after Trevor had been knocked out of him.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted as his father questioned Dennis. "You got Totuas around here?"

Dennis thought for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "If there are, my kids never ran into them. Then again, I never let them in this place when they were children."

Dean turned to his dad. "What's a Totua?"

John answered as he walked to the part of the meadow the fat man was supposedly standing in. "Totuas are ancient creatures. We're talking _real_ old…ice age old. They're rare, but they hunt children. Only children. And only children can see them."

Still holding the EMF, Keith spoke. "You think that's what killed Trevor and Carl?"

Dennis shook his head. "Carl would've been too old. He was sixteen. Even thirteen's pushing it, but Sam looks a lot younger."

Having still not recovered from shooting Doug, Sam just let that one go.

Keith, now walking around the field, spoke again. "Well, whatever it is, there is _definitely_ something here. The EMF is way stronger over by you guys. And if I walk over here, there's nothing."

John nodded and turned back to Sam. "You still see him?"

Sam looked at the man standing next to his father and nodded. John walked back to the group. "We're going back now."

Dennis interrupted. "John, a Totua wouldn't bleed when bit…or be afraid of a stainless steel knife."

John shook his head in response. "I'm not taking chances. Dean, a tree moves the wrong way…shoot it."

Racking his gun, Dean nodded. Sam watched as his father approached him, yet again taking him by the arm, although this time more gently. "Stay by my side."

Sam agreed and then looked behind to Doug as he was marched forward. "I'm really sorry."

Doug glared. "You're really lucky that most of it hit the tree behind me. And you're even more lucky that there was something on that EMF 'cause if I found out you shot me on purpose-"

"It's your fault, man. He told you to look out." Keith smirked as he interrupted his brother.

Doug just glowered back. Finally, taking pity on his little brother, Keith moved to Doug's side. "You okay?"

Doug rolled his eyes and seemed to relax. "Yeah, I'm fine…but, seriously, this better not scar."

Keith smiled again and draped an arm over his brother's shoulders. "Rock salt doesn't leave scars. It just hurts like a bitch. Don't worry, in a few days you'll be just as ugly as ever."

Slightly relieved that Doug and Keith were already joking about the incident, Sam turned back to facing forward. What the hell was he going to do with Trevor?

* * *

_No…I didn't lie; it's in the next chapter. And I hope none of you were very attached to the OCs, 'cause you're not going to see them very much after this...  
_

_Feedback is greatly appreciated! Have any questions? Comments? Let me know!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Lots of answers in this one…and much excitement! Hope you like it!_

* * *

**Sica: Chapter 8**

Dean splashed the water over his face in an attempt to clear the grime from his pores without actually scrubbing. It wasn't working.

"You open this door right now!"

Dean winced as his father's incredibly loud shout shook the bathroom door and mirror. A large series of bangs was then heard, followed by his brother's voice. "I'm doing it! Stop yelling at me!"

With a sigh, Dean gave his tired, dirty face one more glance in the mirror before leaving the room to see if he could do something to keep the peace…he doubted it. Taking a deep breath, he entered his now open room. Dean took a seat on the bed, trying to assess the scene before taking any action. Sam was standing almost protectively in front of the closet; a salt line appeared to be peeking its way from under the closet door. Their father was staring at the line and Sam.

Expecting more shouting, Dean was surprised when his father stepped back from Sam with a suspicious/concerned look on his face. "You salting the edges of the room?"

Sam looked down…something he always did when he was about to lie…and nodded.

Their father looked about as convinced as Dean was. "Why'd you salt the closet door?"

Sam looked up this time, seeming embarrassed. There was something else in his expression as well, but Dean couldn't place it. "I think there might be something in there."

Their father stared for a minute longer, obviously trying to determine if Sam was telling the truth. Finally the man shrugged. "I'd doubt anything could get into this house with the amount of protections Dennis has up, but if something did, I'd expect the two of you could take care of it."

Sam smiled an almost knowing smile. "Don't worry dad, I'll take care of it."

Their father nodded and then sat at the edge of the bed, still facing Sam. "Good. Now we need to talk about what you did tonight."

Sam sighed and gestured wildly. "It was an accident. The fat man was there. How was I supposed to know the rock salt would just go through him?"

John looked confused. "What do you mean it went through him? I thought you said you missed him?"

Sam nodded. "I missed him because it went through him."

Their father shook his head and stood up. His eyes stared at Sam accusingly. "Anything that gives of EMF is affected by rocksalt. Either you missed, your lying about the fat man being there, or _he_ wasn't the thing giving off the EMF."

Sam's eyes went wide for a second before the boy regained control of his expressions. Obviously one of the things his father had said was true. But why would Sam lie about missing the shot? Why would Sam randomly shoot at Doug? That option made the least sense. Shooting someone for no reason wasn't like Sam at all. But then, if Chubby wasn't giving off EMF, what was, and why would Sam know about it? What the hell was going on?

"You know what? I've had it. I think I've been fairly patient with you-"

"HA!" Dean's eyes widened as his brother interrupted his father's lecture. "You've been _patient_? All you ever do is scream at me!"

Dean thought that statement was a little ironic. Of all the members in his little family, Sam certainly did the most screaming. Then again, he wouldn't have labeled his father as patient either.

Stepping away from the bed and toward Sam, John pointed at his son. "You watch your mouth and you watch your volume. Since we even talked about coming here you've been rude, disrespectful…and tonight you were flat out reckless."

Sam went to interrupt, an angry, insulted look on his face but his father's thunderous voice cut him off before he could speak. "Shut up, Sam!"

Sam shut his mouth although the defiant look remained. John took a step closer to his son. "You could've gotten yourself or anyone else on that hunt killed tonight. This is serious shit that we're dealing with here. It's deadly. You think this some freakin' game? This isn't school, Sam. That ghost has already killed thirteen people. That _forest_ holds so much evil that even some of the best hunters in this _world_ wouldn't set foot in it at night. And you decided to just leave the group and 'investigate' something on your own. What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

As his brother just glared in response with his arms folded in front of him, Dean read his father. The man was scared. And what was more, he was right. Sam had run off the other day, too. Hadn't the kid learned his lesson? And what the hell could he possibly have been thinking running off during the middle of a hunt without telling anyone. Obviously, based on Sam's annoyed expression, he wasn't picking up on the fact that he had scared the shit out of their dad.

"You have nothing to say?"

Sam sneered. "I thought I was supposed to 'shut up'."

Dean's eyes widened and an instinctual, "whoa" escaped his lips. Both his brother and father looked in his direction for a moment before resuming their argument.

Before he could be yelled at, Sam spoke again. "All you ever do is tell me what to do. I don't get a say in anything. You never ask me…you don't even listen to me. You treat me like I'm a stupid baby and you don't even care when I do something right! You let Dean do everything! You even talk to him about what hunts to go on, you never ask _me_-"

"Watch it, Sam. I'm not going to waste my time asking your opinion about the next hunt when all I hear from you is how much you hate hunting."

Sam shook his head. "No! It's because you treat me like a baby! When _Dean_ was thirteen you'd let him go first in a hunt. Tonight, even after Dennis suggested it and even though I was the only one who knew where we were going, you wouldn't let me lead."

John took a deep breath. "I wouldn't let Dean go first _now_ in a hunt in that park. And if you EVER speak to me again the way you just did, you'll spend the rest of your school career being home-schooled."

Sam threw up his arms. "Well that'd be no different than what's happening now since it's a Monday in _March_ and I wasn't in school today."

"Sam, I give you responsibility, but you're reckless. You don't want to be out there so you don't listen when I give an order. I'm sorry, Sam, I really am, but you _have to_ learn this stuff. You have to be prepared for what's out there."

Sam interrupted. "I know what's out there! I've spent every day of my life with you telling me how horrible it is out there. There's good things out there too, you know! You know what's out there? Soccer's out there. But you won't let me participate in it because I need'_training_'. I know it already!"

Their father took another step forward. "You've been hunting for three years. You've barely gotten a taste of ten percent of what's out there. Right now, you don't have the experience to know how to hunt."

Sam stomped his foot. "Yes, I do! I'm not a baby! Stop treating me like one! You can't just order me around. I'm thirteen."

Their dad raised his brows. "You're thirteen? Sam, I don't give a shit if you're _thirty-two_. So long as you're my son, you'll do what I say."

Sam glared. "Well then maybe I don't want to be your son."

Dean sucked in a breath and their father slowly shook his head. "That's fine. But until someone grants you that wish, you'll have to make due with me. You're off the hunt. Tomorrow night you're here…you can organize the ammunition. Goodnight Dean."

Dean waved at the door as John Winchester stalked out of the room. As an afterthought, Sam called out, "I can take care of myself fine! Better than you do!"

Downstairs the front door slammed and a brief moment later the Impala's engine sprung to life. Dean felt like throwing up. His dad hadn't deserved that, but broaching that subject with Sam now? He'd be safer in Sica Hollow.

Sam moved to roll out his sleeping bag, shooting a glare at Dean as he did so. "I don't want hear it from you either. I really don't give a shit what you think."

Dean bit his tongue. The boy really knew how to piss someone off. "Of course you don't, you only care about yourself. You don't give a crap _who_ you hurt so long as you get your way."

Sam sneered. "Isn't that dad you're talking about?"

Dean stood up. "We had this conversation already, Sam and I'm in no freakin' mood for you. Don't say anything about dad in front of me again."

Tears of anger entered Sam's eyes as he laid in the sleeping bag. "Fine, I won't say _anything_ to _anyone_ ever again."

Dean rolled his eyes and shut the light. "Fine."

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"So what's your family doing now?"

Sam ceased in pouring salt around the bed to look over at the ghost in the closet. After they had arrived back home last night, Sam salted the inside outline of Doug's closet as a safe place to leave Trevor. If he was restricted to the forest, the salt barrier would prevent him from being sucked out of the Gervich house and back to Sica Hollow. Sam smirked as he pictured Dean's face after his brother found out that he had spent the night sharing a room with a ghost. Or Doug's face for that matter, after all, it was _his_ closet.

"They're on their way to Sica Hollow to watch the replay of your death. Too bad there won't be one since you're here."

Trevor rubbed his currently bruise-free neck. "I hope."

Sam waved him off as he returned to salting around the bed. "You haven't been sucked back there _yet_. The salt will keep you safe."

Trevor didn't seem convinced. "What if the man finds me? I mean, he broke his pattern before when I did. What if he just comes here?"

Sam looked up and smiled. "First, he can't get you through the salt. My dad said that anything that gives off EMF is affected by salt, so he won't be able to get you-"

Trevor interrupted. "But you shot him last night with salt and nothing happened."

Sam shrugged. "I guess I really did miss. My dad may be a dictator, but he knows all about ghosts and last night Chubby gave off EMF, so he'll be affected by the salt."

Trevor nodded. Then, as an after thought, turned back to Sam. "What about you? Aren't you worried he'll come after you?"

Sam shook his head. "No. First of all, I'll be in the salt circle with you. And second, I have this." Sam held up his pistol.

Trevor raised his brows. "Does that shoot real bullets?"

Sam grinned and nodded. "Yep. Last time I bit him and he bled, and he was afraid of my knife, which means this gun can probably kill him. Can you imagine my dad's face when they all come back empty handed and find you and the dead fat guy here? That'll _prove_ that I know how to hunt and they'll finally respect me. He'll have nothing to say after this; after I solved a hunt that he couldn't. Serves him right. Maybe if he hadn't treated me like a baby we could've worked together."

The ghost appeared skeptical. "That's all if he can _see_ the dead fat guy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm sure the dude'll show up once he's dead. They always do."

Trevor just shrugged and nodded.

Placing the bag of salt on the ground, Sam looked at his watch. It was 5:20. Time to get ready. Walking over to the closet, Sam stepped over the salt line to join his new friend. "Okay, jump back into me and I'll bring you into the other circle."

Trevor looked over at the encircled bed before biting his lip. "Why can't we just stay here?"

Sam let out an exhasperated sigh. "'Cause I won't be able to see Chubby if he comes in from over here."

Reluctantly Trevor agreed and made a running leap into Sam's body. Sam fell into the closet door, but managed to stay upright. Then, using his hand, Sam brushed away some of the salt that lined the edge of the closet door. He hissed as the salt burned his skin. Apparently salt affected people _possessed_ by ghosts similarly to the way it affected the ghosts themselves. Wiping the salt off of his burned skin, Sam made his way over to the bed. Thinking ahead, he had already left a small opening in the salt circle around the bed so there was no need to touch the salt there. Once on the bed, Sam picked up the bag of salt and finished off the circle. Then he slammed his head into the headboard, knocking Trevor out of him.

The ghost moved to the foot of the bed as Sam rubbed the bump that was now growing on the back of his skull. "There's got to be an easier way to do that."

Trevor looked down. "Sorry."

Dropping his hand, Sam smiled. "That's okay. So…since we have some time to kill…what do you want to do?"

Playing with the bedspread, Trevor shrugged.

Sighing, Sam tried again. "Well, what'd you like to do when you were alive?"

The ghost looked around the bedspread as though expecting to find the answer there. Then, he shrugged again. "Nothing really. I didn't really have any friends and my parents hated me. That made it tough you know, cause I didn't like going outside 'cause I'd get picked on and then inside wasn't really better 'cause my parents would criticize me and call me a loser and stuff. The only time I ever felt okay was down by Roy Lake. I used to sit there and draw in my sketchbook. After two years I had over hundred sketchbooks full of stuff."

Sam watched the ghost as he talked. He felt bad for Trevor. He didn't really get along well with his dad either, but at least he had friends- and Dean…sometimes. "So what'd you draw?"

Trevor shrugged. "I don't know. Stuff." Then the boy looked up. "What time is it?"

Sam looked back at Doug's alarm clock. "Six O'clock."

Trevor sat up straighter, his eyes widening with hope. "I'm not being strangled…this is the first day in like ten years that I'm not being strangled right now."

Sam smiled. "See? What'd I tell you?"

Trevor nodded and kneeled up on the bed. "So all I have to do is not be in Sica Hollow at 5:30 and I'm okay!"

Sam agreed before adding, "But you won't have to worry about it much longer 'cause my family's gonna help you move on."

Trevor sat back down looking concerned. "What do you mean?"

Sam pointed to the window. "Well, once my family, and Dennis' family, can figure out where your bones are, they'll salt and burn them and you'll move on."

Trevor's brows drew together in upset and his breaths became heavier, but before Sam could address it, the boy seemed to calm himself down. "Well, maybe I won't need to move on if you can bring me to the lake. You can put me somewhere and then draw salt around me."

Sam shook his head. "The salt would just blow away, or get rained on." Then Sam thought of something. "Hey, people in town say they've seen you at Roy Lake."

The ghost nodded. "I can go there for a little bit sometimes. It's like I'll wake up there and then someone'll die and then I get sucked back to Sica Hollow."

Sam scrunched up his nose. "So you're only allowed out of the park to watch Chubby kill someone?"

Trevor looked confused. "How'd you know the fat guy was the killer?"

Sam leaned back to lie down. "Keith found the pictures you drew of the fat guy killing Carl."

Trevor scowled. "I hated Carl. He was the biggest bully on the planet. He deserved what he got."

Sam raised his brows in surprise. "He was killed by the same guy that killed you."

The anger faded from the ghost's face. "Yeah, well, he was a jerk."

Sam yawned. "I don't know what we're going to do now. I thought for sure Chubby was gonna come here. I was all set to kill him. What am I gonna do now when my dad walks in and sees you sitting there?"

The ghost shook his head. "What _are_ you going to do with me?"

Sam had no idea. What the hell was he going to do with Trevor? He obviously couldn't keep hiding him. Not to mention the bed being pulled out from the wall with a salt line around it, someone was bound to notice _that_. He'd have to come clean, but with Chubby not dead, he'd just get screamed at. No, screamed at wouldn't cover it. It'd be worse. He'd _never_ be treated like an adult…ever. Unless…unless he could get rid of Trevor himself.

Sam snapped his fingers. "What are your unresolved issues?"

Trevor leaned back as though being accosted. "What?"

Sam gestured wildly. "Your unresolved issues! Every ghost has unresolved issues. That's why they're still here, 'cause they can't let go of something. What aren't you letting go of?"

Trevor moved back again. "I don't know. Dying?"

Sam shook his head. "No, there's got to be more than that. Did you have unfinished business?"

The ghost shot him an obvious look. "I was thirteen when I died. Wouldn't you have unfinished business if you died today?"

Sam thought for a moment. What would his unfinished business be? Well, he always wanted to go to college, get married, but staying as a ghost wouldn't help him achieve those things. When spirits remained in this world it was because they had something they still needed to do, something they thought they could accomplish as a ghost. Sam made a face. The only unfinished business he would have would be with his dad. But, chances were, if Sam dropped dead right now, he'd still be mad at his father and therefore, just as happy to leave this world in the middle of their argument. After all, _nobody_ had said a word to him today. And while the Gervichs hadn't spoken to him due to the whole 'Doug shooting incident', his father and Dean hadn't spoken to him due to the argument. That was, of course, not counting the orders regarding how he wanted the ammo organized, which he received from his father before they left.

"I don't think I'd have unfinished business. At least nothing I could accomplish as a ghost. Think Trevor. I need to know so that I can help you move on and prove to my dad that I don't need him telling me what to do."

The ghost's expression seemed to change slightly, as though he was resigning himself to something. Then, with a breath, the boy spoke. "I never finished one of my drawings."

Sam sat back. That was it? A drawing? How easy was that to fix? Hopping off the bed and stepping over the salt line, Sam smiled at his companion. "Wait right there. I'll leave you my gun in case Chubby comes. I'm just going to get some paper and a pencil."

Trevor called back. "I draw in blue pen."

Sam nodded vigorously. "Blue pen, got it."

Quickly, Sam ran to Dennis' study, grabbed a pad off the desk, a blue pen from the pen cup and ran back to his room. He had to hurry, given that Trevor wasn't in Sica Hollow, chances were that everyone would be back any minute now. With a flying leap, Sam jumped up onto the bed.

He thrusted the pen and paper into the ghost's hands. "Here."

With an almost sad look on his face, Trevor began to draw. Sam laid back on the bed, hands behind his head, as he waited for the drawing to be finished. Finally, after about five minutes, the spirit put the pen down. Sam sat back up. "Finished?"

Giving Sam a haunted look, the boy nodded.

With a smile, Sam took the piece of paper from Trevor's hands and looked at it. He scrunched his brow in confusion as he looked at the paper. The drawing was just a picture of the fat man, straddling a boy, choking him on a bed. He looked up at Trevor. "_This_ was your unfinished business?"

Trevor slowly shook his head. Then the ghost swallowed. "That's what I had to draw to be able to draw more, to finish my unfinished business.

Sam nodded with understanding. "Oh. So this is like, the beginning of the drawing." Then he studied the image more carefully. "Hey, you know, this bedspread kind of looks like the one we're sitting on. And the kid in the picture has on a sweatshirt like mine."

Suddenly, Sam had a very bad feeling. He looked up at Trevor.

The ghost stared back at him. "Does he?"

Sam looked down at the drawing as though he was holding his own murder weapon. Then, he looked around the bed. "Trevor, where's my gun?"

The boy just continued to stare at him. "What for, Sam? It's just a picture. It's not like a picture can come to life…"

His heart pounding in his chest, Sam peered over the edge of the bed looking for the gun. It wasn't there. Then he hung his body upside down to look under the other side of the bed. The gun wasn't there either. With a grunt, Sam began to pull himself back up. As soon as his head was out from under the bed, he found himself staring at the fat man's shoes.

For a moment, Sam just stared at the dirty red and white sneakers. He knew that once he pulled himself all the way up, he would be strangled. As it was, Chubby was standing _on_ the salt line. Sam's arms shook as adrenaline coursed through his body. His heart was beating so hard, it was vibrating the whole bed.

Realizing he couldn't stay in that position forever, Sam used his shaking arms to slowly push himself back up to the top of the bed. He followed the dirty denim of the fat man's pants up until he was looking at a dirty, plaid, button-down shirt. Unwilling to look up at the face, he turned to Trevor. He didn't understand. Trevor was the victim. The fat man had killed him. Sam was trying to help him. Why would Trevor do this?

Although he didn't speak, the question and betrayal must have been obvious from Sam's eyes. Trevor looked back at him with a blank expression. "I'm not ready to move on."

Sam went to respond, but before he could, a fat hand wrapped around his neck and threw him down on the bed.

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_See? I told you I promised...  
Are you likin' it? Review and let me know! _


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you all so much for your positive feedback! I can't thank you enough for taking the time to leave reviews. Thank you!!_

_Lauriena: Thanks for the review. You'll find out what happen to Sam in this chapter. And I think maybe a few people will be learning from this little incident._

_SciFi Girl: Thanks!! And I'm glad you found the story. And even MORE glad that you like it. Thanks for letting me know!  
_

_Special thanks to Phx for pointing out my hand-sized typo.  
_

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**Sica: Chapter 9**

Sam's mouth opened although no sound came out…and no air was coming in. The fat man was had managed to cover his neck with just one hand and was towering over Sam, leaning all his weight down on the boy's neck. Feeling the blood swell in his head, Sam reached up to try to pull off the fat man's hand. Not only did the massive hand not budge, but Chubby's other hand came up and pulled Sam's hand off and to the side. With one quick movement, the fat man straddled Sam, crushing the boy's hips with his weight.

His vision was tunneling, darkness creeping in around the edges. Unexpectedly, Sam felt incredibly exposed now that his right arm was pushed up and to the side. Too many tickle fights with his brother had ingrained in him to never have his armpit exposed, which really was an odd thing to be concerned about considering he was being strangled.

A sudden snap and blast of pain in the front of his neck and Sam knew he was going to die. There was no getting out of this one. Something had just broken in his neck. His vision was almost completely dark now and his lungs were burning with the desperate need for oxygen. Tears dripped from his eyes as his body forced his mouth open wider. The pulse in his neck had sped to an impossible rate that Sam could feel vibrating his body.

He took back what he had told Trevor about having unfinished business. He _did_ want to make up with his dad; he hadn't meant what he said. But the even more pressing thought was, he didn't want to die.

A sudden noise from downstairs shook the house and Sam felt the fat man ease off just a bit. In a hopeless attempt to save himself, Sam took his free hand and punched the man's elbow with all his might. Somehow, it was enough.

Sam felt Chubby release his neck and arm. Still unable to see at all, and barely able to draw in any breath, Sam blindly felt around himself for his gun. Unfortunately, the only thing he could feel was the pillow. Sam flung the pillow off the bed to get it out of his way. Maybe the pillow was blocking the gun? And suddenly, the fat man vanished. The weight that had been straddling Sam's body was no longer there.

Grating in each breath with tears streaming from his face, Sam blindly fell from his bed and crawled as fast as he could in the general direction of the door. Somehow he made it and crouching onto his feet, he made a half-run/half-crawl toward the stairs. He could hear voices from below and more tears fell from his eyes, although this time spawned by hope. If he could get to his father, he'd be safe.

Taking a step forward, he fell down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom. Although he was still mostly blind, he could see the light and make out the shapes of several people. He knew immediately that they weren't his father or Dean. Quickly, he looked back up the stairs to see if Chubby was following him…but he couldn't see that far.

Raking each breath through his damaged throat, Sam crawled as fast as he could away from the stairs. He coughed and someone called his name, but it wasn't his father's voice. He _had_ to find his dad. He'd be safe then.

A shape approached and reached down toward him, but unable to see who it was, Sam backed away. To his left he heard the door open and immediately took in the form of his father. Letting out a desperate sob, Sam pushed himself into a crouch and threw himself at the man.

His father's hands caught him and still struggling to breathe, Sam grabbed onto his dad's collar. He couldn't speak, couldn't see, was barely hanging onto consciousness and he needed help. He _needed_ help. He didn't want to die.

Pulling on his dad's jacket, he used all his weight until the man's face appeared in front of him. Somehow, despite the fact that everything else was blurry, his father's eyes came in clearly. Sam cried, gasping and choking, trying to convey a message through his eyes, begging his father to save him. He didn't want to die.

His dad's hands were on his shoulders and his lips were moving, but Sam couldn't understand what he was saying. With a sudden fear, Sam looked back toward the stairs to see if Chubby had followed him. As soon as he turned his head, he felt and heard something in the front of his neck crack again. The pain made him completely blind and he threw up.

His hands were shaking now in their death grip to his father's jacket. He couldn't breathe or see at all. The vomit had clogged the small passage that had been allowing the air to get through. Abruptly, he felt himself lowered and flipped over. Then his father's fingers were in his mouth, heading toward the back of his throat. Sam heaved again and then there was nothing.

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Dean stared down at his vomit soaked father and brother with no small amount of panic and confusion. He had no idea what was going on. Being the last one to have entered the house, he got there just in time to hear his father yelling at his brother to calm down. He couldn't see Sam's face from his position, but the horrible wheezing sounds the boy was making set off warning bells in Dean's brain. And then Sam threw up- all over their father. Dean cringed at the sight and smell, but his dad barely even flinched. Immediately he had flipped Sam over and began doing something with his mouth. What the hell was going on?

"Dad?"

"Shit!" His father didn't seem to even notice Dean as he worked to remove the vomit from Sam's throat.

Ignoring the smell, Dean crouched down in front of his family and noticed that Sam was unconscious. "Dad, what's wrong with him?"

Keith ran forward to help and before Dean could blink, his father had drawn his gun and aimed it at the elder Gervich boy's head. Keith skidded to a halt even as Dennis called out, "Keith freeze!"

For a moment, everything was silent, with the exception of Sammy's struggling breaths. Then Dennis spoke again. "Keith back up; come back towards me."

John's eyes stared down the sight of the gun…his hand was completely steady. Dean held his breath, hating the fact that he didn't understand _anything_ about what was going on. Slowly Keith backed up and John lowered his weapon…but not his eyes.

As Keith moved next to his father, Dennis spoke again. "We were with _you_, John. We couldn't have done this."

Annoyed at being left in the dark regarding his brother, Dean bent down to try to examine Sam. Vomit covered everything, but underneath it, Dean could see pale skin with a sheen of sweat and tears covering it. Whatever had happened, it was bad.

Over his head, his father pointed the gun at Dennis and growled, "Only thing I know is that when I walked in, he was running from you."

Dennis shook his head. "He was confu-" John cocked the gun and the man abruptly stopped talking. Holding up his hands, Dennis backed up and remained silent.

Dean touched his brother's sweat-soaked hair. How could the Gervichs have hurt Sam? They had been with them the whole time…but obviously his father thought they had done it. At least he considered it a high enough possibility that he was willing to kill them. And based on the look on John Winchester's face, he _was_ willing to kill them- and everyone in the room knew it.

Lowering his gun again, John stared down the Gervichs as he spoke to his son. "Dean, go upstairs, get yours and Sammy's stuff and get back down. Now."

Dean gave a quick nod before running to the stairs. As he ran, he heard Dennis speak. "John, we didn't do this. Sam came from upstairs."

"Dean wait."

Dean froze with one foot on the first stair and one hand on the banister. He turned back to his father and saw the man's face for the first time since they entered the house. He had _never_ seen that look on his father's face before. Never. The man looked confused and scared. His father always portrayed a certain level of confidence- no matter what. He always knew how to handle anything; always knew what was going on. But the expression he wore now…he was completely lost. And it terrified Dean.

"Take Sam to the car."

Slowly, Dean walked over and then bent down to lift his brother. Once he was close enough, he could see that his father was shaking. "Keep his neck as straight as you can. Sit in the back with him, make sure he's laying on his side. Take out your gun first. I'll put him in your arms. Anyone comes near him, you shoot. Don't think first."

Dean gave a curt nod and took out his gun. "Yes, sir."

Dean accepted the vomit-smeared keys in his left hand as he held the gun in his right. Then, carefully, his father stood up and placed his brother in his arms, resting Sam's head on Dean's awkwardly outstretched elbow. It was a horrible position and there really was no way he'd be able to shoot anyone without dropping his brother, but luckily the Gervichs didn't seem to have any intention of moving.

"Go. Get him in the car. I'll be there as soon as I get your things."

Dean nodded and made his way toward the door, which was of course shut. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Keith move forward to help, but then get pulled back by his father. Apparently Dennis considered Dean to be just as much of a threat as his father.

Somehow Dean managed to open the house door and then the car door. With great care, he followed his father's instructions perfectly, placing Sam on his side, in the back, his head upon Dean's knee. Not thirty seconds later, his father came out, threw two bags on the passenger seat and hit the accelerator to the floor.

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The interior of the car was too dark for Dean to examine his brother, and in addition, he was afraid to move him. Sam was clearly fighting to breathe and Dean still had no idea what had happened. He looked up to the rearview mirror to ask, but the look on his father's face and the white knuckles gripping the steering wheel had Dean afraid to open his mouth. So instead he just sat, with one hand stroking his brother's sweaty hair and the other keeping track of Sam's incredibly fast pulse.

It took twenty minutes of listening to Sam struggle for each breath for Dean to gain the courage to speak. "Dad?"

The sound was so low that he wasn't even sure it came out, but his father somehow picked it up, flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror.

Dean swallowed. "His breathing's…it's not sounding so hot."

They were somewhere on a dark highway surrounded by cornfields; cornfields that were almost flattened as his dad suddenly pulled the car over. The driver's door slammed shut even as the back door was opened. Dean cringed as the smell of puke hit him; and he was thinking that Sam smelled bad…

Leaning into the car, John put his ear to his son's mouth and then throat. After a minute, the man took two fingers and gently began feeling along the front of Sam's neck. Almost immediately, Sam gasped and tried to pull back. Bleary, wet eyes opened and the steady wheeze became a panicked grating noise.

Dean pulled his brother closer and John moved his hand from Sam's throat to the side of his face. Dean watched with almost wonder as his father leaned in close and began soothing his brother. "Shh. You're safe, Sammy. We got you. I'll take care of it. I got you."

The effect was immediate as Dean felt his brother's tense muscles release, his body sinking back down. Slowly the eyes fluttered closed, but both Dean and his father didn't miss the tear that dripped out.

John looked up, serious. "He was strangled. Trachea feels okay, but it's swollen. He's gonna be in some bad pain. I heard one of the tendons snap over a bone when he first got to me. He's not gonna be able to swallow or speak for at least a week."

Dean looked down at his sibling. "Does he need a hospital?"

His father seemed to flinch and then covered his mouth with his hand. He deliberated for a moment before replying. "Not right now. He's stable. It's the swelling we have to watch; he needs to be able to breathe. It'll be as bad as its gonna get in about an hour. I'll get a motel right next to a hospital. If we have to take him in, we will."

Dean understood his father's hesitation. They had no idea what happened, how would they explain how Sam had been strangled? But if Sammy couldn't breathe, they'd do what they needed to do and then worry about the consequences later.

Dean was jarred from his thoughts as his father came through the other back door, scissors in hand. Pulling out the bottom of Sam's shirt, the man called to Dean. "Hold his shirt out, I'm going to cut it off."

Dean did as he was told and slowly but surely Sam's sweatshirt was cut in half. Too bad Sammy wasn't awake for it; he hated that shirt. Underneath the sweatshirt was Sam's too small undershirt, which their father deemed should remain on.

As his dad flicked on the ceiling light, Dean felt his blood begin to boil. A dark blue handprint covered his brother's neck, causing the image to swell out from Sam's flesh. Whoever had strangled Sam, it was obviously an adult. The question was, was it Dennis, Keith, the fat man…or something else entirely?

With surprise, Dean noticed that his father wasn't examining Sammy's neck, but his arms and hands instead. It was then that he saw the purple and yellow bruise on Sam's left arm. His father looked up at him. "These bruises are a few days old. Sammy tell you he was injured that day in the park?"

Dean widened his eyes and shook his head. _That_ he would've been sure to tell his father.

Rubbing his temples, John questioned him again. "He tell you he got hurt _anywhere_?"

Dean shook his head for a second time and a clearly agitated John continued his questioning. "He seem afraid of anyone? Was he okay around Dennis, Doug, Keith?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, dad. You really think they did this?"

His father looked down and shook his head, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I don't know. But the fact that I don't know…I never should brought you here. I should've left you both in Baltimore and come out here myself."

Dean scrunched his face at that. "Come on, dad. South Dakota's like, 2000 miles from Baltimore. You couldn't leave us there and come out here on your own."

His dad didn't look up, just reached out to stroke Sam's face. "I should've left. As soon as Dennis told me he wanted to smack the disrespect off Sam's face, I should've gotten you boys out of there."

Dean raised his brows in surprised. He had no idea that Dennis had said that, but it explained a lot about the way his father was acting around the man. He was angry with his father. He _should've_ gotten them out of there if he didn't think Sammy was safe. But then looking at his dad's face, Dean felt his anger dissipate.

There had never been a time, for as long as he could remember, when his father had admitted to a possible mistake. There had never been a time when his father had fled from a possible attacker. There had never been a time when his father hadn't known who did the attacking. And there had never been a time when his father had wore that haunted expression of guilt and grief on his face.

Dean thought back to how Sam had been acting the past few days…obnoxious, irritable, a pain in the ass, nothing out of the ordinary. Although… "He was afraid of Chubby."

His father nodded. "Could be the fat man. But if it was, then it's definitely not a Totua. Handprint's too big to be Trevor's. He's got a burn on his hand too, no idea where that's from."

John rubbed his face again whispering a plea. "God, help me." Dean had _never_ heard his father pray, nor had his dad ever seemed so broken. The man was supposed to have everything under control. The fact that he didn't…it was frightening.

He turned back to Dean. "When you left the room, did you have salt around the bed?"

Dean shook his head. "No, why?"

His father took a breath and sat back, now looking slightly more confident. "When I got in your room, the bed was pulled out from the wall with a salt circle around it. One of the pillows had fallen, smeared the salt, broke the circle. The closet was lined with salt too. When I asked your brother about it, he said something was in there. You hear anything?"

Dean looked back down at Sam. "No." Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something on his brother's back. "Dad? Looks like there's a bruise on his back."

Working together, John and Dean managed to lift Sam into a sitting position, his head resting on Dean's shoulder. Slowly and carefully, their father lifted the back of Sam's undershirt. From his position, with Sam's hair in his face, Dean couldn't see his brother's back. All he could see was his father's serious and worried face. John seemed to prod the area before attempting to look down the waist of Sam's pants. Then he looked back up to Dean. "Bruise goes down pretty far. Looks a few days old, but I need to see how far it goes."

Reaching around Sam's waist, John unbuttoned his son's jeans and pulled them down. Then he returned to his inspection. From his point of view, Dean could tell that Sam's entire rear was exposed as their father examined him. Sammy would just _love_ this, not that it wasn't something either of them hadn't seen. After all, the man did diaper him and Dean had given Sammy baths until he was seven, which was only six years ago. Still, he doubted Sam would allow this kind of examination if he had been conscious for it.

With a sigh of relief, their father ended his inspection and re-dressed his son. Lowering Sam's shirt once again, John let his hand linger on the boy's back, feeling his chest rise and fall. Then he turned to Dean. "I just had to be sure."

For a moment Dean was confused. Be sure of what? Then he realized what his father had been checking for during his examination. "Everything's…?"

His dad gave a ghost of a smile. "…okay."

Dean let out a breath in relief.

"Okay, let's lay him back down and find a motel. He needs to get cleaned up." Then, sniffing the air and looking down at himself, John made a face of disgust. "And so do I."

Dean laughed. "That's for damn sure. Smells like a bulimic's bathroom in here."

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_No cliffie this time…but please review anyway and let me know what you thought._


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey all! I'm so glad that so many of you enjoyed that chapter. Thanks for taking the time to let me know!_

_ This one's a bit longer and features both protective!John AND protective!Dean. Hopefully you'll like it._

_Lauriena: You're right on track with the mystery! As for the blue pen, don't look too deep into that. Trevor just likes to draw in blue pen. The mystery will be explained in fulll as soon as Sam "tells" John everything that happened. John'll know right away what they're dealing with._

_SciFiGirl: Lol...I liked the way you described all the guys. Very fitting... And yes, one nasty- and very smart- little ghost._

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**Sica: Chapter 10**

"Dean, I need you to fill one of the cups in the bathroom with an inch of water and bring it here."

Dean looked up from the worn-out red bedspread that his now clean brother was laying on and over to his father. The man was going through their portable medicine chest, examining the bottles, and separating some of the pills. Dean questioned his father even as he did as he was told. "Is he going to be able to swallow a pill?"

John shook his head. "We'll be lucky if he can swallow at all. These are all tablets, I'm going to crush them and put them in the water. Two are anti-inflammatory, two are for the pain."

Dean brought the glass of water to his dad. "He doesn't usually take two." It was true, Sam was small for his age and usually one and a half pills did the trick.

His father turned to him, angry. "I know how to treat my own son, Dean!"

Startled by his father's unexpected wrath, Dean stepped back, his eyes wide. Immediately, John's face softened and he brought a shaking hand up to rub his temples. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just, put the glass down and watch his breathing."

Silently, Dean did as he was told and went back to Sam. Sam was positioned on his side, pillows at his back and front, keeping him in position. If he threw up again, nobody wanted him choking on his vomit…not that he'd be in any position long enough to do that. Someone was going to be next to him at all times until they _knew_ he'd be able to breathe without a problem.

Looking down at Sam's outstretched arm, Dean glared in anger. Concussed or not, he very clearly remembered asking Sam if he'd been hurt that day in the park and Sam responding, "no". Why the hell had Sam lied to him? He couldn't understand it. Why? Why wouldn't he want Dean to know?

Dean clenched his fist. He had a right to know. Sam was his little brother, his responsibility. If Sam had been hurt by Chubby that day, he should've known about it. Hell, he should've been there to stop it…freakin' tree.

If the Gervichs had hurt Sam, he could maybe see Sam not saying something…maybe. But even then, what the hell? When Sam was better they were going to have a REALLY long talk about being honest and letting someone know when somebody's hurting you. And whoever had hurt Sam…they were dead. And if they were already dead…they were _so_ being sent down to hell.

Dean's thoughts were interrupted as his father approached the bed, holding the glass. "Help me sit him up. Keep his neck straight."

Carefully, Dean removed the pillow at his brother's front and slowly lifted Sam into a seated position. Dean positioned himself behind his brother in order to hold him steady. After Sam was seated, their father sat on the bed.

With a gentle hand, John began feeling his son's neck. Immediately, Sam moaned and pushed back into his brother. John didn't relent. "Open your eyes, Sammy."

It took a bit more coaxing, but eventually Sam blinked open his eyes. Despite his recent lack of consciousness, Sam's eyes were wet with unshed tears.

Upon waking, Sam's breathing became more distressed. His father scooted in closer. "Shh, shh. I know it hurts. Try to relax."

Dean felt his brother sag down a bit and then slowly close his eyes. John lifted the glass to his lips. "Sam."

The word was loud and forceful, and Sam responded. Without delay, the eyes snapped back open.

Their dad tipped the cup, bringing the water to his son's mouth. "This's gonna hurt, but you need to drink this. It's not a lot. It'll help with the pain."

Once again Sam's breathing became labored and a horrible choking sound began emanating from his throat. Their father moved in until his face was a mere inches from Sam's. He kept the cup to Sam's mouth, although nothing had yet gone in, and moved the other hand to the side of Sam's face. "Sam, look at me."

Watery, panicked eyes moved up to their father's and John leaned down. Sam was literally surrounded by his family. "You can do this. Take a breath, hold it, swallow, let it out."

Tears spilled down the boy's face as the choking sound became louder. This was not going well and given the fact that Sam's back was right up against his chest, Dean knew his brother wasn't breathing. "Dad?"

His father didn't respond, keeping all attention focused on his youngest son. "Sam."

Sam's eyes began to glaze over, his vision leaving his father's face to become blank, panicked, staring. John moved quickly. "Shit."

Putting the glass down on the end-table, he used both hands to hold his son's head. "Look at me, Sam."

Sam's vision focused in and his father spoke with authority. "You need to calm down. You're panic is making it harder to breathe. Dean and I are right here. You're safe. Nothing is going to happen to you. No one is going to hurt you. You're safe."

Dean could feel the change in his brother as he relaxed and finally took in a breath. Dean felt himself relax right along with his brother.

His father's hands moved down to Sammy's chest. "You feel this? Keep breathing like that. There's nothing wrong with your lungs. Your throat's swollen, that's why it feels like you're not getting any air in. You need to stay calm."

Unable to nod, Sam blinked, pushing a tear from his eye with the action. John nodded. "Okay." Then he retrieved the glass and brought it back to his son's lips. "I'm going to pour some in now. Just swallow it quickly."

Dean felt his own body tense as he waited to see how his brother would handle the medicated water.

It wasn't long after the liquid entered his mouth that Sam arched his back in a full-body attempt to swallow. Dean did his best to hold his brother still, but his brother's body's reaction was too powerful. Sam's head tilted back over Dean's shoulder, the boy's entire face turning red in its grimace. Their father reached forward. "Keep his neck straight, Dean!"

Dean fumbled, trying to push his shoulder up to prevent Sam's head from tipping back. How the hell was he supposed to keep Sam's neck straight?

The next thing Dean knew, his father was on the bed, next to him, pushing Sam's chest down and head up. With a choking cough, Sam's neck straightened. His hands were clenched in fists around the bedspread and his gasping breaths were wheezing through his throat at a startling rate. Dean looked at the glass, there were still at least two more mouthfuls left.

Sam's eyes were wide open as he choked, coughing up half the fluid he had just tried to gulp down. Their father moved back in front of him. "Sammy?"

Sam slowed his breathing and moved his panicked eyes to his father. The man stared back at him seriously. "There's a hospital next door. We're going to take you in. There's a bruise in the shape of a man's handprint on your neck. Dean and I will be the main suspects. We'll get out of it, there's no evidence we harmed you, but they'll keep you sequestered for at least a week. They won't let us near you while they suspect us. Chances are you'll be asleep for most of it anyway, they'll probably put you on a ventilator-"

Sam's tears became more pronounced as he listened to his father speak. Dean could feel his brother's slight shake of the head throughout the whole speech, but their dad had kept going. He only stopped when Sam attempted to say the word 'no'. It came out mostly as a gasping croak, but both Dean and their father understood it.

John took a breath before moving in to stare at his son's pain-filled eyes. "Sam, this is a bad injury. You need medical care, I just want you prepared for what will happen."

Sam's headshake was slightly more pronounced this time and then quickly followed by a grimace. A very shaky hand was lifted to their father's chest.

Dean looked on mystified as his brother pointed at the chest and mouthed the word 'you'. Shaking his head in confusion, their dad clearly didn't understand what Sam was trying to say either.

Sam motioned with his hand as though writing and their father nodded. Reaching over to the nightstand, he picked up a pad and pen and gave it to his son. Sam took the pen and began writing. Unable to look down, he kept his eyes on his father.

When he finished, Dean and his dad read the note: _He'll get me_.

Their father put the pad back down and shook his head. "Nobody's going to touch you, Sam. I wouldn't let that happen."

Sam wrote more: _You won't be there_.

That was true. How were they supposed to protect Sammy if they weren't with him? Their father also seemed to recognize the truth in the statement. He rubbed a hand over his face as he considered the options. Finally, he looked back down to Sam. "Who was it?"

Sam picked up the pen: _Fat man_. Then, just as their dad went to respond, Sam wrote again: _Trevor_.

Dean raised his brows in surprise. "They were both there?"

John spoke before Sam could answer. "Sammy, I'll make sure you're safe. I've got you. You don't need to worry. I want you focused on getting better. Right now, you can't swallow and you need professional treatment."

Sam made a disturbingly tragic face as he reached down, grabbed their father's hand and then pulled it toward him, hugging it to his chest.

Sam's opinion was clear: he wanted their dad with him, not keeping him safe from afar. Dean watched his father's reaction as tears formed in the man's eyes. This entire night was ripping him to shreds. Dean could almost see his father being crushed by the pain and worry Sam's injury was causing him. Sam stared back with a desperate, pleading look.

That sat that way for over a minute. Then finally, with a shaky sigh, their dad nodded. "Okay. We'll try again, but if you can't do it, we _have_ to take you in."

Sam leaned his head against Dean's chin as their father brought the glass back to Sam's lips. Slowly the cup was tipped back and once again Sam arched his back in a full body swallow. Prepared for it, Dean used his shoulder to brace the back of Sam's head while his hand held the front. From the way his eyes were squinted shut, the action had been extremely painful, but somehow Sam pulled himself through it.

Sobbing, the boy opened his eyes and motioned to his father for the rest. The man raised the glass. "Last gulp, you ready?"

Sam blinked and the last bit of water was poured into his mouth. With a whimper, Sam pushed his body up off the bed and swallowed it. Although his vocal chords didn't seem to be working, the way his body shook indicated that his sobbing had turned into full-blown crying. Dean hugged his brother tight as his father rubbed Sam's shoulder. "You did great, Sammy. It's done; it's over. You'll feel a lot better as soon as this stuff kicks in."

Gradually Sam's cries died down and his eyes trembled closed. Dean kept a tight hold around his brother as his father got up and to rinse the glass out in the bathroom. The bathroom door closed and Dean carefully extricated himself from behind his sibling. Taking extra care to keep Sam's neck straight, Dean repositioned him so that he was once again lying on his side.

A moment later, John came out of the bathroom with red rims around his eyes. He marched directly to his bag, pulled out a bag of salt, and threw it at Dean. "I want a salt line around both beds."

Dean nodded and began pulling the beds away from the wall to give himself room for the large salt circle. As he worked, he watched his father combine several herbs in small bags and place them under the four corners of each mattress. Dean questioned him. "What's that?"

His dad answered without looking up. "Camphor, myrtle, basil, garlic, and a consecrated bell. Wards off pretty much anything that's not affected by salt."

Dean nodded as he completed the salt line. "Will it repel those Totua things?"

Finishing his work, John stood up and grabbed his car keys off the table. "It's not a Totua. A totua wouldn't leave the forest, but yeah, this'll repel a totua."

Dean walked forward as his father opened the door. The man turned to him, serious. "I need to find a pharmacy; see if I can pick up some capsules. It'll be easier to split them than crush the tablets. Watch him. I want you in that circle, not more than two feet from him. You want to watch TV, you keep it on mute. You need to be able to hear if he has a problem breathing. He gets any worse, my CB will be on 17."

Dean looked around. "Where am I gonna get a CB from?"

Annoyed, John rolled his eyes as he made his way out the door. "Five trucks in this parking lot have them. Pick one and break in. I won't be more than a half hour." And with that, the door was shut.

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Dean smiled as he watched Lucy and Ethel shove hundreds of chocolates in their hats, shirts, and mouths. "Man, that Lucy's a classy chick." And luckily, _I Love Lucy_ was one of those shows that was funny whether the sound was on or off.

On screen, Lucy pushed more chocolates off the conveyer belt and down her shirt. Dean laughed out loud and then cut it short quickly as he heard a moan from the other bed. Turning onto his side, Dean looked back to the top of the other bed to see his brother's teary eyes open. Flipping the TV off, Dean got off his bed and kneeled in front of his brother. "It's okay, Sammy. Go back to sleep."

Ignoring the advice, Sam attempted to turn his head and then began crying. Dean put a hand to the side of his brother's face. "You can't turn your head. You hurt your neck, remember?"

Sucking up his tears, Sam made a face of understanding. Then he mouthed to his brother, "Dad."

Dean brought his hand down to his brother's back. "He'll be back in a little bit. He just ran out to get you more meds."

Immediately Sam's eyes went wide and before Dean could blink, Sam had sat himself up. "Whoa! What are you doing, Sam? Lay back down."

But Sam paid no attention to his brother as he turned his body to look around the room. Dean didn't know what he was looking for, but it was clear that Sam was panicking. His eyes were wide open and his breaths were shallow and rapid. Dean moved in front of his brother's eye-line. "Sam, calm down. What's wrong?"

Sam brought his frightened eyes up to his brother and mouthed again, "Dad."

Dean shook his head. "Dude, he'll be _right_ back. He said half hour tops and that was twenty minutes ago."

Sam's breathing sped up even faster as he scrunched his eyes closed. Dean felt himself growing close to a panic as well. Sam had to calm down, it was hard enough for him to breathe as it was. And since when was Sam so attached to their father? With the exception of a _few_ times when he was _much_ younger, Sam never panicked if it was just Dean. If there was neither of them, sure, but as long as Dean was there, Sammy never had an issue. A strained gasping sound snapped Dean out of his thoughts. "Sam! Sammy, calm down."

His brother looked up at him, tears dripping down his cheeks. Again he mouthed. "Dad."

Dean nodded. "Okay, okay, I'll call him. Just calm down." Turning away from the bed, Dean went to run toward the door. He didn't get very far, however, as a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back toward the bed. Dean jerked backwards as his momentum abruptly changed directions. Sam was now pulling him down toward the bed, reeling him down by his arm. Dean tried to reason with his brother as he attempted to extricate himself from the sucking hold. "Sam, you want dad, I have to get him on the CB…and I need my arm to do that, dude."

Sam's pull didn't cease, nor did his breathing slow. At this point, Sam had pulled his brother so far down that Dean's shoulder was in front of his face.

Scrunching his face up in annoyance, Dean tried again. "Sam, the only way I can get dad is if you-"

Sam wrapped his arms around his brother's neck, pulling Dean's whole body down toward the bed. Dean threw out a hand to the bed to prevent himself from falling on his brother. Squinting his eyes to avoid being poked by his brother's hair, Dean tried to loosen Sam's grip. It didn't budge.

Dean straightened, pulling his brother into a kneeling position as he did so. Taking a large calming breath himself, he noticed his brother was shaking. Sam was never like this. It was true that Sam was an easy scare, he had always been that way. That's what made it fun to make up stories. Dean always got a kick of seeing how long he could fool his brother with an elaborate made-up horror tale before he realized that Dean was lying. But even when Sam was terrified, he always tried to hide it. He'd sleep in Dean's room, with the light on, and vehemently deny that he was frightened. It was part of his Winchester stubbornness. So the fact that Sam was clinging to him in fear was definitely not a good thing.

Tenderly, he returned his brother's hug. "Sam? Hey, come on, kiddo. You're safe. Hey…"

Gradually, Sam's breathing slowed and his body relaxed just a bit. After a few minutes of gently rocking his brother, Dean managed to untangle himself and push Sam back so that he could see the boy's tear-stained face. "Hey…come on, you think I'd let anything happen to you?"

Sam mouthed his response, "Don't leave."

Dean nodded, concern written all over his face. "Okay. Dad'll be walking in any minute now anyway. You think you can lay down? Dad's gonna kick my ass if he walks in and you're kneeling on the bed."

In response, Sam reached forward, pulling his brother into a tight hug for the second time. Dean sighed as he hugged back feeling his terrified brother shaking in his arms. "Come on, Sammy. Don't let that fat son of a bitch do this to you. You're one of the bravest thirteen year olds I know. Hell, you're one of the bravest _people_ I know. Don't let that piece of shit break you like this."

Dean felt his brother loosen his hug and lightly push him back. Sam stared at him, a much more relaxed look on his face. Then he mouthed something. Dean shook his head in confusion. "I didn't get that one."

Sam motioned for the paper and Dean reached over, handing the pen and pad to his brother: _You think I'm brave?_

Dean smiled, there were some moments when he really loved being a big brother. "You kidding? Dude, if I'm ever facing down a clan of demon-possessed shapeshifters who've shapeshifted into a bunch of warewolves, other than dad, there's nobody I'd rather have backing me up. And you know why?"

Wide-eyed, Sam just stared at him.

Dean answered his own question. "'Cause any other hunter'd piss their pants and run home crying. But you? I know you'd face anything if I needed you there."

Sam mouthed to his brother, "I would."

Dean smiled. "That's what I'm saying, dude. You're brave. You'd be scared, but you'd face it. You wouldn't puss out."

Seeming to accept Dean's pep talk, Sam sat himself back down on the bed. He didn't seem happy, but he was certainly _much_ calmer than he had been before. Dean tapped him on the leg. "Good. Can you lay down now?"

Sam picked up the pad and pen again: _I'll try to be brave but don't leave_.

Dean sighed looking at the paper. And here he thought his pep talk had worked so well. He nodded at his brother. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sam wrote again: _You'll stay here?_

Dean nodded. "It's not like I've got somewhere else to go, dude."

For a moment, Sam just stared at the paper as though debating whether to write something. Then, having decided, he added to his collection of notes: _Tell dad_.

Dean shook his head. "Tell dad what?"

_To please stay_.

Dean raised his brows. "You want me to tell dad that you want him to stay."

Sam mouthed, "yes".

Dean shrugged, skepticism permeating his tone. "Okay, I'll tell him." He didn't mean to sound doubtful, but really…Dean could tell his father that Sam wanted him to stay till he was blue in the face, but if the man felt he needed to be doing something else, such as hunting down Trevor, nothing that Dean said would make a difference.

Dean looked down to see his brother writing once again. "Sam, please. Dad's gonna walk through that door any second now. Could you please lay down?"

Finishing his note, Sam handed it to his brother, mouthing the words, "For dad." Then he lied down. Dean took the note and rolled his eyes. "Finally."

He bent down next to his injured sibling. "You need a blanket?"

Sam mouthed, "No."

Now that Sam was calm again, Dean debated bringing up the fact that Sam had lied to him about being injured the other day. He didn't want Sam getting upset again, but he was pissed that Sam didn't tell him. Not wanting to hold any anger toward his brother, Dean threw caution to the wind and spoke. "Sam…the other day when you first ran into Trevor and Chubby…"

Sam looked at him, a brief flicker of fear crossing his face at the two names. Dean continued. "I asked you if they hurt you. You told me they didn't."

Sam looked confused, staring at Dean as though he had no idea what he was talking about.

Dean tried again. "Where'd you get the bruises on your arms?"

Sam brought his arms up to his face to look at them and then turned his attention back to his brother.

Now getting frustrated with Sam's silence, Dean pointed at his brother's arms. "The bruises, Sam…where'd you get them?"

Sam shot his brother a sad look before mouthing, "Chubby."

Dean nodded. That was what he had thought. "Why'd you lie to me?"

Sam looked confused again, mouthing, "I don't remember."

Dean lowered his brows in anger. "Sam…"

Obviously upset, Sam scrunched his brow before motioning for the pad. Dean handed it over and Sam began writing: _I screwed up_.

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam added more: _A LOT_.

Dean shook his head. "Why the hell wouldn't you tell me about this? Why wouldn't you tell me that someone hurt you?"

Tears entered the boy's eyes as he wrote more: _I don't remember not telling you. I felt bad you got hurt. I didn't want you to get upset._

Sam's reason did nothing to appease his brother. "Sam, did it ever occur to you that maybe if you had told me what really happened, we might've been able to keep you from getting hurt tonight?"

Sam mouthed to his brother, "Yes." Then, a few seconds later he added, "Now…"

Dean sighed and rubbed his temples; hindsight really was twenty-twenty. Sam tapped him on the shoulder, placing a note in his hand: _I'm sorry_.

Dean looked his brother in the eye. "Swear to me, right now, that if anyone _ever_ hurts you, you'll tell me. No matter what's going on with me- no matter anything at all. Swear it, Sammy."

Taking his right hand, Sam used his pointer finger to cross his heart. Then he mouthed, "I swear."

Dean nodded in approval and Sam scribbled more on the pad: _We good?_

Dean grinned and rubbed his brother's shoulder. "Yeah, dude, we're good."

Sam let out a big sigh and for the first time that night, smiled. Then, sinking back into his pillows, he closed his eyes.

* * *

_Cheesy? Yeah...but sometimes you just can't help yourself. I write fan fiction cause I can make them hug!! Hopefully you liked it anyway. Review and let me know. See? no cliffie for two chapters in a row now!  
_


	11. Chapter 11

_Yet again, thank you all for your wonderful reviews. They truly brightened my day. And as you'll see in this chapter, I'm of the belief that Dean learned A LOT from his dad..._

_Okay, and I never do this, but I'm going to rec two fics that I think partially inspired this one. The first is Phx's: A Great Fall, which if you haven't read her trilogy- seriously- what are you waiting for...  
And the other is BeKi of Dorvan's: Open Your Eyes- it's a oneshot, and mostly hurt!Dean, but TRUST me, it's worth your time.  
Both stories and authors can be found via the "Search" button at the top of your screen.  
_

_SciFiGirl: Lol…glad you liked it! And I'm glad it wasn't too cheesy for you. This one's a bit sappy as well I think…  
Charli: Thank you SO much for that review. It really made me so happy. I think I reread it like three times already. Thank you. And I'm very glad to know that you're enjoying the Sam/John relationship. I'm enjoying exploring it.  
Lauriena: No, Sam's not seeing things…he's just scared that Chubby'll come back and finish what he started, so he doesn't want to be alone._

* * *

**Sica: Chapter 11**

Just as Dean sat down on his bed, his father walked through the door. The man deposited a large brown paper bag on the table before walking over to crouch by his youngest son. He addressed Dean. "Any problems?"

Dean gave a humorless laugh, but didn't elaborate.

John turned around giving his oldest his full attention. "Is that a 'yes' then?"

Dean smiled and held Sam's note out for his dad. "He wanted me to give that to you. It looks like the meds kicked in. He looked like he was in less pain, but he's really freaked out."

Taking the note, his father frowned. "Freaked out how?"

Dean shrugged while looking over his father's shoulder to his brother. "He got _really_ upset when he found out you weren't here. He told me to tell you that he wants you to stay here."

John rolled his eyes and read the note aloud. "Dad, the fat man is suppose to strangle me to death. He'll find me. Can you please stay with me and Dean? Love, Sam."

The man looked up toward his oldest son. "Well that was nice. It's nice to get a letter every now and then…"

Folding the note and putting it in his pocket, the man became serious. "He explain any of this?"

Dean shook his head. "I didn't read the note, so I didn't ask him." At his father's annoyed look, Dean explained further. "He said it was for you and he folded it up. I figured you'd get it in a few minutes anyway…"

The man nodded and looked back at the paper. "So you don't know what he means by '_suppose_ to strangle me' then…"

Dean shook his head again. "Sorry."

With a frustrated look, John turned back to his sleeping son, obviously debating whether he should wake the boy. After a minute, he sighed and rubbed a hand threw his hair. "Doesn't matter. I'll be outside on the porch. I need to think."

Before Dean could speak, his father stood up, pulled a bottle of tequila out of the paper bag he'd just brought in, and left the room. With a sigh, Dean walked over and unloaded the rest of the contents of the bag: three bottles of pills and six cans of…formula? What the hell? Then Dean nodded in understanding. There was no way Sam could eat solid food right now. Whatever he'd eat for the next week would have to be liquid and formula would carry most of the nutrients that Sam needed. Dean laughed. Sam already had issues with being treated like a baby, he was just going to _love_ this. At least he'd be able to drink the stuff out of a cup rather than a bottle.

At the bottom of the bag, Dean found a box of _Ensure_. He laughed again. It seemed that Sammy would get a choice between baby formula and old people nutrient supplement. Tomorrow'd be a fun day…

As he threw away the bag, Dean got to thinking about his brother's reaction to what had happened. It was like he had regressed about five years…in some ways. But then, being strangled could probably do that to a person. That, and Sammy had been alone when it happened. That had never happened before. Sam had gotten banged up on a few hunts, but Dean or their father had been _right_ there. He had never been attacked on his own before. For that matter, neither had Dean.

Dean bit his lip as he stared at the door. His dad would need time to clear his mind, but he really wanted to talk to him about the way Sam had acted. He really wasn't sure if Sam's reaction was normal, or if it was something that should be addressed by their father. All he knew was that it was very _un_-Sam.

Taking a breath, Dean walked out the door. His father stood to the left, resting against the rotten corner beam that held the roof above the porch. On the chipped, white railing stood the tequila bottle, the neck of which had already been drained. His father turned to him almost immediately. "Dean?"

Dean nodded. "Sorry, I just…um…"

He didn't know how to bring it up. They had already discussed it really, it was just that he got the impression that his father hadn't fully understood just how scared Sam had been. But how could he bring it up again? His dad was not a fan of redundancy. An issue was discussed once and then closed.

As he tried to figure out how to speak, Dean watched his father take another swig of the tequila and close his eyes. The man really looked worn. Dean turned back to the door; he'd come back later.

Just as he was about to go in, his father looked over. "I'll be in in a minute, Dean. I just gotta get it together." Then he rubbed his eyes and shook his head. When he removed his hand, Dean could see the tears in his father's eyes.

Staring out into the quiet parking lot, the man spoke again. "This is exactly what I've been trying to train you boys for. To prevent this."

Dean bit his lip. "Sammy was able to get away somehow. He's probably alive because of the training."

Shaking his head, John looked up toward the stars and whispered, "It's my fault."

Dean grew confused. How was this their dad's fault? It wasn't Dennis, it was Trevor and the fat man that did this… "Dad, you said yourself, you can't always be there to protect him."

The man shook his head more forcefully, anger shading his features. "I knew. I _knew_ he was hiding something in that closet. I should've looked…" He gripped his hands around the railing. "Why the hell didn't I open that door? I _knew_ he was hiding something there."

Dean stepped forward, not understanding. "Dad, Sammy said that Trevor and the fat man did this-"

John cut him off. "He was in the closet. I'll bet anything Sammy had Trevor in the closet. That's why he salted the edges of it. I should've checked. I should've checked and I _never_ should've left him alone."

Dean rubbed the cold off his arms as he thought. It was hard to listen to his father's guilt, not that he didn't have some himself. But if Trevor had been in the closet, that would've meant that the ghost had been in the closet all night, including while Dean was there. How could he have missed the fact that a ghost was in the closet? And why hadn't Trevor attacked then? His dad must be mistaken. "Sam's old enough to know he should tell you when he's hurt and tell you when there's a ghost in the closet."

Enraged eyes turned on him. "He DID tell me there was something in the closet."

Dean took a breath. "Dad, this is Sammy we're talking about. If he was afraid of something in his closet, he'd come to you…or me. He said he could handle it-"

His father interrupted again. "He's thirteen. He thinks he can handle a lot more than he can."

Dean shook his head, now disagreeing for his brother's sake. He had to get this conversation turned around before their dad had Sam tied to his side. "Da-"

"He's my son, Dean." Dean stopped speaking as his father's red-rimmed eyes bored their way into his soul. The man brought his voice down to a whisper. "He's my son. I'm his father. It's my job to protect him. He never should have had to go through this. I failed him."

Dean stepped back, uncomfortable with his father's thoughts. His dad never failed. And anyway, it was _Dean's_ job to protect Sammy. But how were they supposed to know that Sam would be in more danger at the Gervich house than on the hunt? The house was supposed to be the safe place…especially compared to Sica Hollow.

John took another swig of tequila before leaning back against the post. "I've spent all this time…learned to kill evil so that I could teach you boys. When your mother-" With a shake of his head, the man stopped talking and turned back toward the parking lot.

Dean walked toward the banister, pushing his father to finish his statement. "What, dad?"

The man shook his head again. "I can't…I…"

Dean prodded again. "You can tell me."

At that his dad gave a humorless laugh. "That may be, but I _shouldn't_ tell you."

Dean crossed his arms. "Dad…"

With a blink, a tear dripped down from John's eye. He seemed to deliberate for a moment, before sighing and then looking up at the stars. He whispered, "God forgive me…" Then with a rub of his eyes, he began his story. "That night…when your mother…"

Dean nodded, encouraging his father to continue. His dad hardly ever discussed what happened that night, but every time he did, Dean hung on every word- absorbing them for information. The more he knew about that night, the more information he'd have to help in the hunt his mom's killer.

His dad continued, "When I found her on the ceiling…she wasn't dead. She was bleeding, but she was still there."

Dean stood in shock. His mother had burned alive? He had little time to process as his father's teary eyes seemed to take up his entire field of vision. "She looked at me, Dean. She knew she was going to die. She was terrified. _Terrified_. She looked at me and her eyes, they were begging…begging me to save her, and I…the fire just went up and she knew. I watched it in her eyes…"

John twisted the tequila bottle in his sweaty hands as he continued. "Every night…every night I close my eyes and I see her face, _begging_ me to save her. I see the fear and pain in her eyes as her body went up in flames…she didn't want to die…"

Dean felt his body shaking as his father stepped toward him. "It was the worst thing I've ever seen…and I swore to myself that I'd never have someone look at me like that again. I'd kill every evil thing that's out there. I'd protect my boys from it. I'd train them to fight it."

Dean's own eyes watered as his father blinked out another tear. "Tonight, when I walked in that house…your brother grabbed me and his eyes…they looked exactly like Mary's. It was the exact same expression. It was like I was back thirteen years. And I was too late, again."

Dean disagreed. "Sammy's okay, dad."

But his dad shook his head. "I would've done anything to keep that look off his face. I would spend the rest of my life blind and deaf if I could've saved him from that pain. He's my _child_, Dean. You and Sam, you're everything. You're worth more to me than this entire world. I'd sell my soul if it meant saving the two of you. And I should have been able to protect him. I'm his dad, that's my job."

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Closing the door softly behind him, Dean walked over and plopped himself into one of the nearby chairs.

His mother had burned alive? All his thoughts seemed incredibly quiet as the echo of his father's story sounded through his head. Heat pounded it's way to his face; he stared at his shaking hands.

His mother, the woman who had sung to him, kissed him, hugged him…she had been beautiful. He didn't remember much, but he remembered that. He remembered her clean smell and her golden hair in his face as he wrapped his arms around her neck.

Tears entered Dean's eyes. She had burned alive? But she loved him…

How could her last moments have been in fear and pain? She was the one who always calmed _him_. She was the one who had a magical kiss and a soft voice that could cure any pain. How could she have died alone, afraid, and in agony?

A tear slowly slid down his cheek, dripping with a splash onto the table. He had always known she was murdered…always knew she'd been pinned to the ceiling, but it never occurred to him, for whatever reason, that she had been frightened- or that she had felt it. It wasn't even that he had assumed she was dead before the fire, he just never thought about it. It had all been a series of facts. Dad walked in, mom was on the ceiling, there was a fire, dad got Sammy to Dean, and by the time he went back, mom was gone. Had she really been gone by then, or had she been screaming in agony?

Dean strained his memory. He remembered the heat. He remembered being terrified as he ran out of his room. He remembered his dad giving him an incredibly heavy Sammy and then running as fast as he could- scared to death that he'd drop Sam or not get out fast enough. He hadn't even been allowed to _hold_ Sammy by himself before that point, much less run with him. But in all that, he couldn't remember hearing any screaming. At least not after his mother's initial scream, which woke him up.

So some _thing_ was in his baby brother's bedroom, cut his mother up, stuck her on the ceiling, terrified her, and then burned her alive. What the hell?! More tears dripped down as anger coursed through Dean's veins. She was beautiful. She was kind. And he wanted her back. And this _thing_, whatever the hell it was, took her from him. And it had scared her, and it hurt her.

Dean shook his head, hot, angry tears falling on his hand. He was going to kill it. Whatever it was, he was going to destroy it…for his mom. She didn't deserve to die, she didn't deserve to be taken out suffering like that. She had been alone and scared.

A sudden irrational anger popped into Dean's brain as he realized that she hadn't been alone, Sam had been there. Was Sam the reason it happened? And despite the fact that he'd been a baby, an illogical part of Dean just felt Sam should've done something.

A sideways glance at the sleeping, injured boy and his ridiculous thoughts fled. Baby Sammy would've actually been easier to blame, the baby had only just begun developing any sort of personality. But Dean knew _Sam_, and he found it absolutely impossible to irrationally blame someone who loved him. And as annoying as Sammy could be, he _loved_ Dean, and Dean knew it. Of course his dad loved him too, but it wasn't the same. Sammy _needed_ him, depended on him. Sam was grateful that Dean was there. He was _important_ to Sam. Being loved by someone and being important to someone weren't always the same thing, and with Sam, he had both.

Suddenly, in place of the anger, a swell of protectiveness came over him. He couldn't believe he hadn't been able to prevent Sam from being hurt. He was the kid's big brother; Sam looked up to him. He should've been able to protect him.

Lifting his hands, Dean pressed his palms into his eyes. God, he had been sobbing so much that his nose was actually running. With an ashamed sigh, he rolled his eyes at himself, crying over a thirteen year old murder…really.

How could his dad have told him that? Why did he have to be haunted with that now? He could actually feel the ache in his heart as he once again pictured the fear and pain his mother must have felt. He didn't need to know…

"No, but you asked to know," he told himself. And deep down, he did want to know. He owed it to his mother to know how she died. As someone who had loved her, as her son, he owed it to her to fully understand what she went through and why she needed to be avenged. He was gonna tear that son of a bitch apart…

A hitched breath had Dean's head up and focused on the bed. Sam seemed okay, still sleeping… Wiping the remaining tears from his face, Dean walked to his brother's side just to be sure.

There was no grimace on his face, no blatant sign of distress, but the pain was there, lingering under the surface of Sammy's sleep. Dean knelt down and touched the hand that hung limply over the side of the bed. The hand moved away and a small whimper came from above. Dean could tell from his brother's position, that his arm being hung off the bed was stretching the muscles in Sam's neck.

Tenderly, Dean took hold of his brother's hand and elbow and lifted them onto bed, moving them in front of his brother's face. Sam's only reaction was to sigh. Once his brother's hand was back on the bed, Dean took a closer look at it. This was the hand with the burns, and it was clear that their lack of treatment was causing problems. There was no infection yet, but the area was dark red, slightly swollen, and hot to the touch. It'd have to be taken care of.

Rubbing a hand across the side of his brother's face, Dean stood up and went to get the first aid kit. Just as he turned to go back, his father walked in the room.

Immediately the man took in the sight of the kit. "What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing. The burns on his hand are a little hot. I figured I'd treat them."

Dean could see the alcohol's effect on his father. Not that he was drunk or even that he had really changed all that much. Some people became completely different when they drank…his father didn't quite fit that description. The man was still highly responsible and competent, maintaining his ability to successfully handle any situation. However, the alcohol did tend to have some effects, the biggest being the crumbling of defensive walls. For the most part, his dad was a guarded, no nonsense, hard-ass with a sarcastic sense of humor. But when he drank, the defenses came down and all that was left was a guy who had lost his wife and was desperately trying to raise his children on his own.

Dean watched the man stroke his son's hair as he gently lifted and examined the hand. Sam's brow had barely creased in a frown before his father turned all his attention to comfort; rubbing the teen's back and bringing his face low to whisper soothing words and ease his son's pain. It was amazing to observe because as his father spoke, Dean could see the hurt that been underlying his brother's sleep slowly dissolve into an expression of peacefulness.

The two of them could yell whatever they wanted at each other, but when both were stripped of their pride, anger, and defensiveness, their bond was glaring.

Quietly, John turned to him. "Get some ice."

Dean nodded and, grabbing the ice bucket, fulfilled his father's request. By the time he returned, his dad had already medicated and bandaged his brother's hand. The man beckoned him forward. "Put some ice in that towel. I don't know how long ago this happened and I don't want to wrap his hand in medication if it's still burning."

Dean followed his father's instruction and then handed back the ice-filled towel. Taking a layer of bandage, John wrapped the ice to his son's hand. He looked up at Dean. "Get some sleep."

Dean moved to argue, doubtful that he'd be able to sleep given the current state of his brother and the new information that he had on his mother, but his father cut him off with a look. "Now, Dean."

Shutting his mouth, Dean quickly changed and laid in the other bed. Despite his fears, within minutes he was asleep.

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_Next one is Sam POV and his secrets get revealed, so stay tuned…_

_And of course, review and let me know what you thought! Please…_


	12. Chapter 12

_So, just sharing, I had a really good time writing this chapter. I mean, I just really had fun. Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it. And, you may want to buckle up; it's a bit of a rollercoaster…_

SciFiGirl_: I'm glad it wasn't too sappy. I worry about that, you know, there's a fine line... and I do believe the three of them were a solid family; that's why Dean loved it so much, but you know, there were some flaws there...  
_RennieSpice_: Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying papa Winchester. I hope you like this chapter too!  
_Sara_: Aw, thank you Sara! I'm glad you've enjoyed reading it so far, hopefully I'll be able to keep your interest.  
_IHeartSam: _Thanks! I actually like John (as you could probably tell), although I do believe he had some major issues. But I think above all, he loved his kids and in the end, that's what matters most. Glad you're likin' it!_

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**Sica: Chapter 12**

Sam awoke covered in sweat. His neck, shoulders, arms, face…everything hurt. Moving his legs, he noticed that he was wearing sweatpants, which was weird because last he could remember, he had been wearing jeans. But then, last he could remember, the fat man was sitting on him, smiling down with his gap-toothed grin as he leaned all 350 pounds of weight on Sam's neck. That reminded him…his neck was _killing_ him.

With a gasp, Sam opened his eyes. He was facing another bed. Again weird because there was only one bed in Doug's room. Vaguely he had a memory of being awake, his dad getting him to drink something and then Dean trying to get him to calm down. He remembered writing things on a pad, but had no idea what they were. He did remember telling his father that he didn't want to go to the hospital though…

At least it seemed his father had listened about that. Of course, after he found out what Sam had done, that would probably be the _last_ time he'd be listened to at all. He had been so freakin' stupid. He had willingly _let_ a ghost possess him. He had _hidden_ a ghost in his room.

Shit. A sudden memory popped into Sam's head; Dean asking about the bruises, being mad at him for not telling him. Shit. Did his father know about the bruises too? Was he mad? Was Dean still mad? Shit. And the worst part was, he honestly had no idea why he hadn't mentioned the bruises. Probably because they would heal on their own, no big deal, and if Dean or dad found out, they'd freak…not to mention it would blow it to their dad that they had been separated for an hour. Shit. So now he had been injured _and_ probably lost his family's trust. What a great job he had done proving himself…

Sam moaned…and all that was on top of the fight he had had with his father. The fight where he said he didn't want to be John's son. Sam remembered the feeling of knowing he was going to die with those words hanging in the air. He had to fix that…

Reflexively, Sam swallowed. The action brought intense pain and Sam fisted the towel in his hand as he tried to breathe through it. It was interesting how when pain the pain took over, he could suddenly feel just how hot and uncomfortable he was under the covers. He just wanted to move, to change his position and make the pain stop. But there was so much pain, moving seemed out of the question.

Suddenly, as in an answer to his wish, the covers were pulled down, and Sam felt himself carefully, but quickly lifted into a sitting position. With a sigh of relief, he began breathing easier.

The cool air quickly covered his sweaty body and he shivered through a chill.

"Dean, bring the glass over." His dad's voice rang out from behind him, the deep tone vibrating his body. Apparently, it was his father who had lifted him out of that position.

A wave of gratefulness swept over him, followed by guilt. He really needed to apologize for what he had said. But at least if his dad was helping him, then maybe his father wouldn't kill him. But then again, his dad didn't know what happened yet.

His thoughts were interrupted as his brother held a glass to his lips. Sam lifted his hand to hold the glass himself and Dean handed it over, keeping his own hand around Sam's for support. Given the horrific pain in his neck, Sam was grateful for it.

Taking a breath, he dipped the contents of the glass into his mouth. Immediately, he noted that it wasn't milk. It had the same texture, but definitely not the same taste. But there was no time to ponder that any further as the nearly impossible task of swallowing came up and Sam had to use his whole body to force down the unknown liquid.

Despite the excrutiating pain and the fact that the task left him breathless and shaking, he actually found it easier to swallow this time as opposed to what he had remembered. It was possible that he was getting better, but it was more likely that the position that his father was holding him in just put less of a demand on his body. He _really_ needed to fix things with his dad. Now.

Sam went to put down the glass, but was stopped by the demanding voice behind. "All of it, Sam."

There was no arguing with that tone. Besides, hadn't he done enough damage arguing with his father? Squinting his eyes closed, he too another gulp. Then, before the pain had time to register, or his body had time to recover, he drained the rest of the contents.

As soon as he put the glass down, he realized that chugging the liquid may not have been the best idea. Overcome with pain, Sam straightened his body on the bed, pushing himself back into his dad. The pain in his neck was unbearable and it radiated out to the rest of his body from there. His jaw ached, his stomach, his arms, his back…and the sharp ache surrounding his neck seemed to make breathing out of the question.

Unexpectedly, he felt himself shifted; his head and neck lowered onto the pillow. His dad moved out from behind him and sat on the bed beside him. The man reached down and patted his arm. "Relax, Sammy. You did good. You'll feel a lot better once this stuff kicks in."

Feeling himself calm, Sam resumed his breathing. To his right, he felt the bed shake as his dad stood up.

It hurt so freakin' much; this just sucked. Sam hoped that this would be the one and only time he would ever be strangled. Of course, if Chubby found him again, he had a feeling everything would just pick up where it left off. Sam felt his eyes water, he couldn't bear the pain _now_, if something touched his neck again…

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam flicked his eyes over to where his brother was hanging over him. No doubt Dean's concern was spawned by his tears, but since his brother seemed to be looking for a way to help…

Sam motioned for the pad and pen, which Dean quickly handed over. Despite the awkward position of lying on his back, he began writing:

_Dad,_

_I want you to know,_

_I'm sorry I said that I _

_didn't want to be your son._

_I didn't mean it. I'm glad_

_I'm your son. I'm sorry._

_Love,_

_Sam_

Ripping the paper off the pad, Sam folded it once and then held it out, looking over to his dad. Unfortunately, the man's back was to him.

Seeing the problem, Dean called over. "Dad, Sam's trying to tell you something."

Immediately, their father turned around, walked over to the bed, and took the note. Sam watched with bated breath as his dad read it. Would his dad forgive him? Would his father roll his eyes and call him a sap? Knowing the man, his reaction could really go either way.

Sam watched his dad take a deep breath as he held the note. After what seemed like an eternity, his father finished reading. The note was re-folded and placed into his left chest pocket. Then, the man looked at his son. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam gave a half-smile and his father returned to whatever he had been doing before. He really wasn't sure what to make of that reaction. A "thank you" was somewhat unexpected…he would've been prepared for a hypocritical lecture on not saying things you don't mean, but a thank you? John Winchester did not typically _thank_ his sons; not over something like that anyway. Did the man forgive him? Did he believe him? 'Cause he had certainly meant what he had written…

"Hey, what are you constipated? What's with the face?"

Shaken from his thoughts, Sam turned to his oh-so-eloquent brother. The medicine was starting to kick in and Sam could feel his thoughts beginning to clear as the pain receded. It was still there, but for now, so long as he didn't move, it was _much_ better than it had been before.

Dean's face took on a wide grin. "Silence for a week…this is gonna be sweet."

Sam glared as his brother continued. "Just think, I can say whatever I want…and you can't say anything back…"

Sam raised his brows in challenge before lifting his hand and casually giving his brother the finger.

Dean only smiled. "See? There's the Sammy I know; always resourceful."

Sam rolled his eyes as he tried to repress the smile that was growing on his lips.

"You shouldn't hold that in, you know…it's not good for you. You know what happens to people who hold in their laughs?"

Sam bit his lip, now having to work harder.

"They turn into mimes."

Sam's grin broke free as his body shook in silent laughter. Dean was always way too good at making him laugh…

"It's true. Have you ever seen a mime smile? That's not natural, you know. They make you think they put on that make-up and those striped outfits…but that's really their skin. Spent too much time as kids holding in their laughs. And you better be careful. You're already half-way there with that whole mute thing you've got going on."

Still laughing, Sam lightly whacked his brother in revenge. People who hold in their smiles become mimes? Really, where the hell did Dean come up with this stuff?

"You seem to be feeling better then. That medicine kicking in?"

Sam blinked up at his dad as the man walked over. Dean moved and John took his seat on the edge of the bed. "You feel up to telling us what happened?"

With a sobering look, Sam turned his eyes to the pad his father was holding. It _was_ probably better to get it over with…especially while he was injured. Maybe they'd take pity on him.

His pulse skyrocketed as he took the paper. Injured or not…his father was going to _kill_ him. Sam just hoped the man would use a gun because he really didn't think he could take much more strangulation…

With a shaking hand, Sam did his best to write out what had happened…all of it. It was hard writing while lying down. With his stomach as a rest for the pad, he couldn't see what he was writing. He just hoped in the end, that the words weren't on top of each other. Then again, maybe it would be better if they were.

His father and brother allowed him to cover the pad as he wrote, which he was extremely grateful for. This was one of those times where it was just better to bombard the others with _all_ the information and hope that they didn't have time to process the multiple points where he had royally screwed up.

His dishonesty, thinking he could handle it all by himself, was over. Now was the time to come clean, because really, he hadn't just endangered himself here. He had endangered everyone. He had snuck and hidden a ghost in his room…in the Gervichs' house. What the hell was he thinking?! He'd wonder if he'd been possessed, but then, he had, except that that couldn't be an excuse because he hadn't been possessed when he'd hadn't told Dean or his father that Trevor had possessed him and was in the closet. What if Trevor had drawn Chubby killing Dean in his sleep in the bed? His brother could've died…

Whatever his father was going to throw at him- he deserved it. Big time.

It took about five minutes, and twelve pieces of paper, but Sam had written everything. Shutting his eyes, Sam beckoned his father over and handed him the papers. He _was_ tired…maybe he could fall asleep before his dad read it all…

Sam opened his eyes, reminding himself that he deserved whatever was about to happen.

Sam watched his father's face as the man read the note. The expression started serious, then moved to wide-eyed. Sam couldn't tell if that was an indication of surprise or horror, either way, he was guessing his dad was up to the part where he had first been possessed. Handing that page over to Dean, the man moved on to the next page, the serious expression once again adorning his face. Over to his right, a clearly disturbed Dean abruptly sat down on the other bed.

Dean read faster than their father and had already lowered the note, staring at Sam. Sam met his brother's eyes and could literally see the guilt in them. Inwardly he sighed. Dean could really be a pain in the ass. It was _so_ not Dean's fault that he had decided throw a tantrum in the middle of the forest, get possessed by a ghost, and then not tell anyone about it. That was _all_ Sam; every single one of those bad decisions. He may be a complete moron, but he was a moron that could own up to his mistakes and take responsibility for his own dumb choices. What with the mindset he had been in over the past few days, Dean wouldn't have been able to stop him from doing something stupid, even if he had known about it.

A loud, drawn out exhale brought Sam's attention back to his father. Dad was already on page five, having handed the other pages to Dean. Sam tried to remember what was on page five…probably the part where he Trevor possessed him for the second time, when they were hunting in Sica Hollow. Yeah…that was pretty much the beginning of the end for him right there. After all, they had been _hunting_ Trevor and yet Sam had decided not to mention the fact that the ghost was _in_ him…and then he had pretty much screwed the next day's hunt, wasted all of their time, and almost got himself killed…

The fury on his father's face was blaringly obvious. The nostrils were flaring and when he passed the second to last page to Dean, his hand was shaking. Sam bit his lip. As much as he knew he deserved whatever was coming, he certainly wasn't looking forward to it. With the added stress of pain, he felt like he could cry just waiting for his dad's reaction.

Sam moved his eyes over to his brother. Well, at least Dean didn't look too mad. At this point, he looked more shocked than anything else. Yes, _shock_ was definitely the expression on his face…along with a look of 'dude, you are so dead'. At least Dean wouldn't be contributing to the murder.

Sam looked back up at his father as the man handed the final paper over to Dean. This was it…

From four feet above him, John stood, glaring down. Sam felt his breath catch in his throat as his heart palpitated in his chest. And the worst part was, he couldn't even pre-empt his dad with an "I'm sorry" or "I know I'm an idiot" or anything else. He couldn't speak.

Sam's breath picked up as his father continued his stare. Desperately he wished for the man to just say _something_. At this point he'd even take an, "I'm ashamed to be related to someone so stupid"…at least it'd be better than the glare.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw his brother sitting on the bed quickly looking back and forth between their dad and Sam. The look on Dean's face was also apprehensive, which didn't do much to bolster Sam's confidence in surviving.

Finally, his father spoke. "I don't even know what to say to you."

The voice had been quiet, but the anger and disappointment beneath it had come shining through. Sam could feel his heartbeat vibrating the bed, which made him suddenly remember the moment when he had seen Chubby's feet. A wave of pure fear ripped through him before Sam sucked in a breath and reminded himself that that had happened last night and was not happening now.

"Well?"

Startled, Sam looked up at his dad and realized that the man had asked him a question, or at least had said something. Either way though, he had no idea what it was.

"Sam, pick up the pad and write."

Sam's eyes grew wider. What was he supposed to write? He missed the question. His father's eyes squinted in rage and Sam felt his breathing pick up even faster. He grimaced as the quick intakes burned his throat.

With a shaking hand, Sam threw caution to the wind and began writing. _I'm sorry. I'm a stupid kid_.

Handing his father the pad, Sam waited for the reaction. It wasn't good.

Sam flinched as his dad threw the pad across the room where it hit the wall with a smack. The man pointed down at him, now raising his voice. "No. You're not. You may be a lot of things, Sammy, but _stupid _isn't one of them. That doesn't get to be your excuse. Why don't you try again? Why don't you explain to me what, the HELL, you were thinking when you decided to hide a GHOST in your ROOM?!"

Sam pushed himself back into the pillows as tears entered his eyes.

"Why don't you tell me why, in God's name, you felt that I didn't need to know you'd been possessed? What the HELL was going through your head, Sam?!"

Sam felt himself beginning to sob as his father's infuriated spit landed on his face. His heart was still pounding, his neck was killing him, and he couldn't speak. Not that he'd have anything to say even if he could.

Shaking all over, Sam mouthed to his father. "I'm sorry."

The man nodded, gesturing violently as he shouted. "You're sorry. Oh, well, that just fixes everything. Look at that! You're magically healed because you're sorry!"

Sam was full-blown crying now and one particularly large sob scratched its way into Sam's lungs, creating a startling noise and excruciating pain as it ripped past his vocal cords. Immediately, Sam's hand shot up to his neck and his tears moved from emotional to physical pain.

His eyes were clenched shut now, but as he rolled onto his side in an attempt to free his throat from the emotional mucus, he heard his brother speak. "Dad…"

The shock of Dean disagreeing with their dad, if only in saying one word, was enough for Sam to force his teary eyes back open to see his father's reaction. The man had turned and was now glaring at Dean.

Sam could tell his dad was still angry, but the glare seemed different now that it was aimed at Dean. Sure enough, despite the underlying anger, his father's voice had dropped from yelling to its normal tone. "You really want to get involved in this?"

A look of confusion crossed Dean's face and he stepped back.

Pointing his finger, their dad moved in toward his eldest son. "You were out for ten minutes, huh?"

Dean's eyes widened and their father continued. "That's what you said, right? It was just ten minutes. So why don't you explain to me how all that could've happened in ten minutes?"

John stepped back, waiting for an answer, and Sam watched his brother's chest move faster and faster as he stared at their dad like a deer in headlights. Obviously, Dean knew what the man was talking about…Sam couldn't really say the same.

Finally, Dean opened his mouth to speak, but their father cut him off, yelling once again. "How long was it, Dean?!"

Dean flinched and stuttered an answer. "I, I _was_ out for t-ten minutes, b-but I c-couldn't find him for an- an hour."

Their dad nodded. "An hour."

Shaking his head, the man walked around the bed and toward the door. Before he got half way, he stopped and turned back to his eldest son. His voice was just above a whisper. "You know what? If I'd known you'd been separated for an hour, I would've figured that more had happened and I would've known to ask about it. How the hell you expect _him_ to tell me everything that happened when _you_ are flat out lying to my face?"

Dean flinched again and backed up into the wall. John just continued. "He's not going to say everything that happened if he's trying to cover your ass."

The guilt flooded Dean's face and Sam just watched in confusion as his brother's eyes became suspiciously reflective. He didn't understand. How the hell was this _Dean's_ fault? Because Dean hadn't been forthcoming with how long they'd been separated? What the hell did that have to do with anything? Even if their father had known that they'd been separated for an hour, it wouldn't have changed the fact that Sam had snuck Trevor into his room with the intent to finish the hunt on his own.

Their dad moved forward, his finger pointing outward. "He follows everything you do. _You_ lie to me. _He_ lies to me. You hid the fact that the two of you were separated for an hour to save your own ass- and when you did that, you made it so he couldn't possibly tell me everything that happened without getting you in trouble. And I think we both know he wouldn't open his mouth if it was going to get you in trouble."

The man shook his head in disgust. "You should be _real_ proud of yourself."

Their father turned one more glare to Sam, shook his head in anger, disappointment, and disgust and then walked out the door.

The slamming of the door caused both brothers to start, but the sound was gone almost as quickly as it had come and soon the room was enveloped in an empty silence…drastically different compared to the yelling that had occurred only minutes before.

Feeling an unexplainable fear start to creep through his body, Sam looked up to his brother. Dean's head was still down, his whole body visibly shaking. Apparently sensing Sam's eyes upon him, the older teen looked up and then quickly looked back down. Turning, Dean choked out a whispered, "Sorry, Sammy." And walked quickly into the bathroom.

The door closed and Sam's body screamed in terror. He couldn't be alone. What if the fat man came back? He was still on a bed. The man could find him! Throwing off the covers, Sam ignored the pain in his neck and sat himself up. He had to get his dad back. Outside, the sound of the Impala's engine sprung to life. Sam's eyes widened and he jumped onto his feet, leaped over the salt line, and flung open the door.

In front of him, the Impala was just pulling out and Sam ran forward to the edge of the porch. His dad couldn't leave. The hell with all the fighting and the disappointment and how much his dad hated him right now, he needed him. The man had to stay. He didn't know how to fight Trevor…or Chubby. He needed help. They could come back at any minute!

Sam stared at the car, unable to call out, with tears of desperation in his eyes. He felt his desolation growing as the car backed up further from the porch. Desperate, Sam tried to yell. Of course no sound came out and the mere attempt brought with it so much pain that Sam went completely blind for a minute.

Breathing was nearly impossible, his throat not seeming to understand how the action was supposed to work. His vision had probably returned by now, but with his eyes clenched shut in pain, he'd have no way of knowing.

Taking a sweaty hand, Sam wrapped his arm around the chipped, white, porch column and hugged it to himself- partially for comfort, partially for support. Suddenly, a hand appeared on his back.

"What the hell are you doing outside?"

It was his father's voice. Filled to the brim with relief, Sam threw himself off the pole, wrapped a fist in his father's shirt, and pushed his head against the man's chest. His own chest tightened and his hand began to shake. Still clenching the shirt, Sam squeezed his sweaty hand tighter.

A larger hand lightly brushed the hair on the back of his head and Sam pushed himself back so that he could see his father's face. The man bent down slightly so that Sam wouldn't have to look up. The teen mouthed to his father emphatically. "DON'T LEAVE." His tears had stopped, but his breaths was still coming and going at a rapid rate.

His father cringed at Sam's statement. Then he sighed, brushing the side of his son's face. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I forgot."

Sam felt his breathing slow slightly, but still clung to his dad's shirt in case the man decided that he didn't care.

For a moment his father seemed to deliberate before turning back to Sam and sizing him up. Then the man sucked in his lips as though considering something. Finally he spoke. "Based on what you wrote, the fat man's a tulpa. He's not going to be able to get to you unless Trevor can draw the exact place that you're at. And I promise you, _nobody_- not Trevor, the fat man, or even Dennis knows where we are."

Sam heard the information, but he wasn't reassured. What if he had missed something in his retelling of the events or what if he had misinterpreted something? His father's conclusions about the fat man were all based on Sam's information and as the past few days had shown, Sam wasn't the most intelligent or reliable source of information. His father thought he was safe there? What if he was wrong? Sam mouthed the words again, pulling more material into his fist. "Don't leave."

His dad let out a big sigh and then turned his head to watch a panicked Dean come running out of the room. Upon seeing Sam, he skidded to a halt and literally sagged in relief.

Ignoring his elder son, John slowly nodded. "Okay…" and then lightly, he rubbed Sam's arm, "…okay."

Sam let out a thankful breath and relaxed his fist somewhat.

Another nod and his dad spoke again. "I won't leave. I'll stay out here on the porch." The angry, disappointed look re-entered his eyes. "But I need some time to cool off. I'm…I don't even have the words for you right now, Sam. What you did was so unbelievably stupid…you could've gotten yourself and everyone else killed. I've _had_ it. I just…I can't be in the same room with you right now."

Sam felt the pain in his neck return in full force as his emotions warred between relieved and ashamed. He mouthed slowly to his dad, gesturing along with his statement. "You'll stay on the porch?"

Appearing slightly less irate, his father nodded and gently took Sam's hand, removing it from his shirt. "I won't leave the porch."

Sam relaxed more and fought to keep an overwhelmed frown off his face.

Their father turned to Dean, annoyance and irritation filling his voice. "Take him inside."

Obviously still not recovered from his own verbal beating, Dean curtly nodded and moved to Sam's side. Gently, he began guiding his brother back into the room. Sam allowed himself to be led back, leaning his head into his brother as they walked back in.

The agony in his neck was almost unbearable and Sam had resist the urge to try to hold the weight of his head with his hands so his neck wouldn't have to do it. Thankfully though, it was only a few steps before he was back on his bed, the weight of his head being supported by a pillow. Closing his eyes, Sam sighed and relaxed into the bed. At least it was over…now everybody knew everything. And somehow, he had survived…

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_So, I've caught up with myself here…which means the next update may not be as quick, but I'll do my very best. In the meantime, please review and let me know if you're enjoying the story…_


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry for the delay between posts…I'm writing as I go along now, so the updates will be a bit slower. I am working as hard as I can to get them out within a reasonable time period though… Thanks so much for your patience._

_I rewrote this one about four times. It was a pain in the butt, so I'm sorry if it showed. Hopefully my muse will work with me for the next one._

_**SciFiGirl**: Thanks! I'm glad you're likin' John. This wasn't too bad between updates, was it? I'm doing my best...  
**Lauriena: **Hopefully you weren't too late for work! Glad you liked the chapter. And yeah- everything's now out in the open...  
**Mustbekarma: **Lol...well, that was certainly passionate! Don't hate John too much. He's certainly got his issues and isn't the best at communication or forgiveness or a lot of other things, but he does love his kids. Just try to keep that in mind. He is trying the best he can... As for Dennis, he and his sons will make one last appearance, but I'm not giving away what happens there...  
**Rennispice: **Thanks! And next chapter? Here you go!!  
_

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**Sica: Chapter 13**

Sam was just beginning to drift off when he heard a bang. The door opened and his father's heavy footsteps vibrated through the room. That was weird. His dad had been pissed; said he needed time to cool off… Why was he back in the room only a few minutes later?

Slowly, Sam opened his eyes and turned his body towards the banging that was coming from over by the TV. The TV was resting on top of a set of dressers and next to the TV stood his father, angrily going through his bags. Sam felt his fear pick up…what was his dad looking for that he needed right away? The man had just said that Chubby couldn't find him…

"Shit!"

His father's thunderous voice echoed off the walls and Sam's eyes grew wider. More things were taken out of the bag and his father began flipping through his journal at an almost frenzied rate. Over on the other bed, Dean stood up and walked over to the edge of the dresser. He stood about five feet from their father, but within the man's eyesight. Normally, Dean would be asking his father what was wrong, but it was obvious that right now, he was afraid to open his mouth. Probably, he was afraid of making their dad more upset.

Sam's attention was brought back to his dad as the man slammed his fist down. "SHIT!" With a great amount of force, John kicked the dresser, sending his booted foot through the bottom drawer.

Sam felt all of his muscles tighten in fear. Even Dean looked scared as he slowly backed away from the scene.

Removing his foot from the furniture, their father sagged down, covering his face with his hands.

Sam was terrified. He had _never_ seen his father act like that. He had never seen his dad lose it. Sure, the man had gotten pissed before, and yeah he'd screamed so loud a neighbor once called the cops. And yeah, there were those times when he got into fights with his hunter "friends" and those had really escalated, but now the only people in the room were him and Dean. And dad had _never_ been violent when it was just them…

Not knowing what was going on or what to do about it, Sam looked at Dean, who was completely pale. In fact, Sam would've been positive that his brother couldn't get that pale even if he had lost half his blood. Dean's reaction to their father's actions only served to amplified Sam's fear. His dad was insane to the point that it scared even _Dean_? And Dean was frightened enough that he wasn't even attempting to hide it for Sam's sake...

Finally, their father lifted his head out of his hands and turned around. Immediately, Sam noticed how worn the man looked. Had his father looked like that before? From ten feet away Sam could see the bags under his dad's eyes.

For a moment, John just looked back and forth between both of his sons. Then his sight remained on Sam.

Sam squirmed in the bed as his father stared. The man's look was difficult to read and Sam honestly couldn't tell if he was soon to end up like the dresser. His father had _never_ hurt him before, but his dad had never acted like that before either… For the first time that he could remember, Sam didn't feel safe, despite his family being there. And it wasn't just a fear _of_ his dad. It was the fact that his father looked so broken. His dad was losing it. How could he protect them if he was losing it? He was injured and totally dependent on his dad.

What if his dad really _had _lost it? Then who would keep him safe? It was the same feeling he had had when the fat man was strangling him. He didn't want to die (or be strangled again) and he couldn't defend himself. He was helpless and terrified and there was no one to run to this time.

Suddenly, John's expression changed. The slumped shoulders drew back, the look of distress vanished, and a new look of confidence appeared in its place. Sam knew that look. It was his "screw with me and you'll be dead before you hit the ground look". And just as it appeared on his father's face, Sam felt his sense of security return. It was as though his dad had read his thoughts and disagreed. Sam could always run to him.

"I need to talk to you outside, Dean. Now." And the man walked to the door.

Still looking a bit frightened himself, Dean dutifully followed.

Sam's body filled with panic. Outside? Both of them? Pushing himself up, Sam did his best to convince his body that it would be better to follow them outside than sleep.

Sam had made it to a sitting position when he heard his father's voice. "Not you, Sam. You stay here."

Immediately, Sam moved onto his knees to face his father. There was no way he was staying by himself. Just as he was about to mouth a, "no," his dad pointed at him. "Sam…"

Ignoring the warning, Sam crawled forward on his knees. With a serious look, his father moved forward. "You heard me…"

Sam fell back on his rear, his heart practically beating _through_ his chest. He didn't want to stay by himself. Unfortunately, his father and Dean were already walking out the door. It was so frustrating. He couldn't speak, couldn't argue, couldn't stop them, his neck was in so much pain… Sam felt tears enter his eyes. His neck really, really hurt. It was getting to be almost impossible to hold his head up. He just wanted to lie down. He just wanted to feel safe. But his dad was mad at him and just kicked a hole through a dresser, a ghost and a tulpa were out to kill him, and now he was alone. There was only one of those things he could change.

Tears of pain falling from his eyes, Sam forced himself off the bed and over to the open door. His father looked down at him with a look of annoyance. "Sam…get back in there right now."

Unwilling to be inside alone, Sam stood his ground. His father moved in front of him, bending down so that they were eye-to-eye. At first the man looked like he was about to yell, but then his face softened. With a concerned look and gentle touch, he began feeling Sam's neck. Immediately, Sam pulled back, more tears coming from his eyes.

His father sighed and placed his hand under Sam's chin. Sam didn't know if his dad was trying to feel something, but he didn't care; his neck just couldn't continue to hold his head. Closing his eyes, Sam leaned the entire weight of his head onto his father's hand. Sam felt his father's other hand begin stroking the back of his head as the man sighed above him. "Sammy, you _need_ to lie down."

Lifting his hand, Sam pulled on his father's shirt in an attempt to communicate his wish to not be alone. Somehow, his father seemed to get the message. "Open your eyes and look at me, son."

Sam did as he was told, but continued to lean his weight onto his father's hand. "You are safe. I'll open the shades so you can see us. But I need to talk to Dean and you need to lie down."

Sam opened his mouth to tell his dad to talk to Dean inside, but the man cut him off. "End of discussion. I told you you're safe. That's all you need to know."

Then, before Sam could think any further, his father turned him around, walked him back into the room, and pushed him down onto the bed. "Lay down."

Trembling in fear and pain, Sam obeyed the order. Silently his watched his dad open the shades and then step outside. He tried to fight down his terror as the door closed with a click. It was ridiculous really. So what if he was alone? He had been alone plenty of times before and never had a problem. Plus, his dad seemed pretty sure that he was safe and if anything, his father was almost always on the over-protective side. So, if his dad felt that he was safe on his own, he was. Too bad his body didn't seem to understand that. Trying to ignore the pain in his neck and the fear in his heart, Sam watched his father and brother as they talked outside of the room.

What the hell were they talking about that he couldn't hear it too? _That_ was typical. He wasn't considered important enough to share information with. In fact, that was why he had tried to deal with Trevor on his own to begin with; to gain some respect. That plan had pretty much gone to hell. Not only had he not proven himself, he had screwed up so bad that he had actually proved the opposite…that he was an incompetent moron. And of course, now his father was back to talking to Dean about everything and Sam about nothing. Right now though, despite how babyish it made him seem, Sam just wanted his family back in the room.

At least he hadn't lost anything. Sure his dad would be pissed for awhile, there'd probably be a few more lectures as well as a few more bouts of yelling, but in a few days his dad would be over it. That's just the way it worked. He screwed up, or in some cases was falsely accused of screwing up, his dad would yell, and in a few days time, things would be back to normal. This time, he _definitely_ deserved the yelling and would willingly accept it. He was almost an adult now and as an adult, he could own up to and learn from his mistakes. And he could accept and handle whatever punishment his father deemed fit, which in this case, seemed to be shouting and parental disappointment. Sure the yelling was loud and scary, and the disappointment hurt, but considering just how irresponsible, deceitful, and stupid he had been, he had gotten off fairly easy…

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Dean gave every effort to be fully focused as he waited outside for his dad. He had already failed as a brother and son, lied to his father, almost gotten Sam killed…he couldn't screw up again. As it was, his father was never going to forgive him for this. His dad was [Inot[/I the kind of guy to forgive and forget. Once that trust had been breached, which in this case it had, it was nearly impossible to get it back. His father was never going to look at him the same way again.

Dean sucked in a breath and stood up straight as his dad walked back outside and shut the door.

"We've got a problem."

Dean nodded, all attention on his dad, although he had no idea what the problem was.

His dad continued, "We have no way of knowing if Sammy's still possessed."

Dean's eyes widened, his brother might still be possessed? Still hesitant to speak, Dean simply looked at his father for an explanation.

Understanding the look, John ran a hand over his tired face and leaned his back against the wall. "We're in a riddle here. If the ghost's still in Sammy…I got no way of knowing what was true, what wasn't. I don't know how strong Trevor is…it'd be unusual for a ghost to take over a body, they're more inclined to cohabitate. Demon's are the one's who take over, but it doesn't mean it can't happen. We need to know."

Dean nodded again. "What do we do?"

His father shook his head. "I don't know." With a long sigh, the man looked up at the porch roof, bending one knee to rest a foot on the wall that he was leaning on. "There's only two ways I know of to test for ghost possession. First, is the EMF meter, which I'm pretty sure left at Dennis' 'cause I've searched every freakin' place I can think of and I can't find the damn thing…and second is salt, which would cause another burn if he _is_ possessed."

Dean swallowed. So that was what his father's tantrum had been about…he couldn't find the EMF meter and he needed it for Sam. Dean bit his lip. "We can go back and get it…"

Immediately, his father's head shot up, a look of annoyed disbelief on his face. "I pointed a gun at the man's son. I walk back on that property, I'll be dead before I hit the ground."

Dean shrugged. "Okay, um, I'll go."

John's expression darkened and he took a step forward. "You're not going anywhere near there. I don't want you even looking at that town. You got that?"

Dean nodded quickly, but the gesture didn't seem to be enough for his dad. "Did I make myself clear, Dean?!"

Dean paled and backed up. "Yes, sir!"

His father nodded his approval. Then, with another sigh, leaned back against the wall. "His body's been through too much. Even a small burn…he's already in enough pain. That's our last resort."

Dean risked a suggestion. "Can we get another meter somewhere?"

The man seemed to consider the suggestion as he stared out beyond the porch railing. "I know some people, but it's about a three hour drive…six round trip. I promised your brother I wouldn't leave."

Dean spoke again. "I can go…"

His father stared at him, sizing him up. For his part, Dean tried his best to look as responsible and competent as possible. He hoped his father would take him up on the offer. Not that picking up an EMF meter could make up for his failure, but at least it'd be something… At least being given the opportunity would be some indication that his father still trusted him…

Dean's stomach dropped as he watched the man slowly shake his head. "No. I don't want them seeing you and I don't want you having anything to do with them."

Dean swallowed and put on his most confident face. "I can handle this, dad. If we need an EMF meter for Sammy, then I'll do whatever needs to be done."

His father sent him a small smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "I know you would, Dean. But those people…there's a real fine line between them and the things they hunt. I don't want you gettin' friendly with 'em."

Before Dean could respond, John shook his head in thought. "We need to be careful…if there _is_ a spirit in Sammy's body, I don't want to tip it off. That's why we're having this conversation in private."

Dean agreed. Then his father pulled out his car keys and held them out. Confused, Dean accepted them.

"There's a payphone in the pharmacy about two miles down the road past the hospital. In the glove compartment there's some quarters and a funeral card. On the back of the funeral card is the number for Jim Murphy's church. Call him, tell 'im we're in Northwest Minnesota, on the border of South Dakota. Tell him Sammy's hurt, maybe possessed, and due to certain circumstances, we don't have our EMF meter."

Dean smiled and raised his brow. "Certain circumstances?"

His father was unamused and stared back with an angry face. Immediately wiping off his smile, Dean cleared his throat and allowed his father to continue.

"See what he can do for us. If he can spare a meter, we'll drive down and get it. You tell him only what I told you to say. Don't go sharin' all the details. You don't get any more specific than _Northwest_. You got that?"

Intimidated, Dean nodded.

His father returned the action. "I trust Jim, but he's good friends with Dennis and I don't know where that leaves us right now. I want him knowing as little as possible."

Dean understood. "What do I say if he says to get one from the Gervichs?" That was a very real possibility, as Northwest Minnesota was much closer to the Prairie Coteau Hills of South Dakota than it was to Blue Earth, Minnesota. And up until recently, they had been friends with the Gervichs…it'd be logical for Pastor Jim to suggest that they look there.

John didn't seem to agree. "He won't. Just tell him what I told you to tell him."

Dean nodded. Then, a sudden thought sprang into his head. "Dad, if Trevor _isn't_ in Sammy…he could still be in the Gervich house, and even if he's not, he knows the layout of the house, he could draw any one of them getting killed there-"

His father waved, cutting him off. "Already covered it- I got Keith on the CB while I was tearing the car apart looking for the meter. They figured out it was Trevor, since _the_y knew that it hadn't been them. Dennis cleaned the house. There's no spirits in it and they already suspected the fat man was a tulpa. They found Trevor's drawing of Sam getting strangled on Doug's floor. I just confirmed it for 'em."

Dean shuddered as he remembered reading his brother's note. No wonder Sam was so terrified. Not that the kid should have trusted the ghost to begin with, but still, it must horrible for Sam to hold that drawing in his hands and know that Trevor had betrayed him and that was the way he was supposed to die. Dean looked at his father. "Dad, is there any danger to them keeping the drawing? I mean, shouldn't it be burned or something?"

His father sighed and then shrugged. "Yeah, probably should be burned, but we can't get it right now. Doesn't matter though. The drawing was room specific. For the tulpa to act out the drawing, Sammy'd need to be lying in that room, on that bedspread, and wearing his old sweatshirt. It's not an issue."

Dean agreed and his father nodded at the car. "Get going and when you get back, clean the interior. Smells like shit in there…or should I say, a bulemic's bathroom…" And with a smirk, the man went back inside.

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_As always, please review and let me know if you're enjoying the story…_


	14. Chapter 14

_I am so sorry that this update took so long. It was a combination of real life, research, and muse stubbornness that slowed me down. Thank you all for being so patient and still retaining interest in this story._

_Also, I hope this chapter's religiousness doesn't offend- it's just my take on an underdeveloped character…_

_**SciFiGirl**: Thanks! Actually, I'm finding this story to be a lot less twisty than my other ones…  
**Mustbekarma**: Oh good- I'm glad you don't totally hate John anymore. We'll see how long that lasts… As for Pastor Jim and Dennis- I'd like to think that Jim's just one of those people that has a very high tolerance for everyone he meets.  
**Humblefan**: Thanks for the patience, and if you're enjoying reading the torture- just think how weird it is for me to write it!  
**Lauriena**: I'm so glad that you're enjoying the boys and all their issues… And thank you so much for letting me know that you thought they were accurate to their age- I'm always worried about that._

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**Sica: Chapter 14**

Dean watched the TV from his prone position on the bed. It was an episode of _The Honeymooners_, one of his all time favorite TV shows- but he couldn't enjoy it. For one thing, it was on mute and _The Honeymooners_ just weren't the same without Ralph Cramden's voice yelling at Alice, Norton, and Trixie. Second, and more importantly, Dean was too busy watching his father to pay any attention to the show.

It had been over six hours now since he had left to call Jim Murphy. Six hours since Pastor Jim had told him, "I'll look into it, call back around 10." Dean checked his watch. It was six hours since the last phone call and thirty minutes till the next. Maybe he could leave early for it…

For the past six hours he had been trapped. Trapped in a room with his father and brother- and there was no way out. Sam, for his part, had been in and out of a pain-filled sleep the entire time. Each time he'd wake up, more pain medication and baby formula would be forced fed to him and then he'd just fall back asleep.

Their father, had barely spoken a word since he'd come back- other than to ask Dean questions about the phone call or issue instructions regarding Sam's care. Really, Dean couldn't blame the man; it was obvious John was feeling caged himself.

This was not his father's modus operandi. Something had tried to kill one of his children and, on top of that, the man was enraged. With those circumstances, Dean would normally be wishing luck to anything supernatural within a hundred mile radius. His father wasn't one to sit on his anger. When John Winchester was angry- evil things were massacred.

Dean could see the twitches in his father's muscles, the curling and uncurling of his fists, the grinding of his teeth… The man was itching to kill and there was no doubt Trevor and the fat man were at the top of the kill list. Well, maybe they were tied for second place behind the thing that killed their mother, but either way…

Unfortunately though, John wouldn't be killing anything tonight- possibly not for the next few days. He had made a promise to Sam, necessary or not, and while he may have been furious with his son, he would _never_ break a promise.

So instead the man was drinking, seated at the small round table, feet up on a nearby chair, staring blankly at his youngest son. His mind was obviously elsewhere as Dean hadn't seen his father blink at all in the past ten minutes. At least he was drinking the tequila out of a glass this time.

Dean laid his head on his arms as he watched his dad absent-mindedly swish the alcohol around in the small glass. The silence in the room only seemed to push the walls in closer. If it weren't for the incredibly loud crickets outside, Dean would've felt like he was in Sica Hollow.

A sudden loud knock at the door caused Dean to jump. His father was also shaken from his reverie and looked over at Dean, signaling, as he made his way to the door.

Standing up and grabbing his gun off the bed, Dean walked over and covered his brother's face and chest with his body. In his drugged sleep, Sammy slept on.

Once Dean was in position, John looked through the peephole. Dean watched with curiosity as unexpectedly, his father let out an annoyed sigh, rolled his eyes, and opened the door.

On the other side of the threshold, Pastor Jim looked amusedly at the two guns being held on him. "What a kind way to welcome guests to your temporary home…"

John kept his gun pointed at the minister's head. "You're not welcome here."

Concern replaced the smile on the pastor's face as he noticed the man was serious. The clergyman held up a brown paper bag. "I'm sorry he's hurt, John. I brought you a meter."

Dean wanted to put down his gun, Pastor Jim was a close family friend, someone they had always trusted, someone who his father had left them with many times, he really didn't think he'd be able to shoot the man. But as long as his father's gun remained trained on the minister, so would Dean's.

Dean flinched as his dad growled at him. "I gave you clear instructions, Dean."

Shit! He had failed his father again! Except that he had done _exactly_ what his dad had said. He hadn't given the minister _any_ indication as to where they were. But of course his father would assume that he had. He had already proven to his dad that he couldn't be trusted…and now he wasn't.

"Star, six, nine, John."

Dean watched his dad squint over the site of the gun. "Excuse me?"

The clergyman rolled his eyes. "Star, six, nine. It calls back the last number that called you- whether you know the number or not. And the people of Wheatland Pharmacy were more than happy to give me their address. Once I got there, it wasn't hard to figure out which motel you were staying at, seeing as though there's only one in the area."

His father showed no reaction to the other hunter's explanation.

Finally Jim sighed. "John, please. I'm not here to hurt your children." The minister held out the bag.

Cautiously, John accepted the bag and then looked in it. Dean lowered his own weapon as his father pulled out an EMF meter. Forgetting their new visitor, John turned the meter on and walked over to Sam.

Dean lifted himself off of his brother, giving his father room to scan. The machine clicked softly and the minimal lights lit up, but nothing further occurred as the meter was moved over Sam's body. Finally, with a breath of relief, the meter was turned off.

John returned the machine to Jim, who had now fully entered the room and placed himself beside Dean. The pastor accepted the meter back with a comforting smile. "I'm glad it was unnecessary."

Dean watched his father squint in reply before walking over to the dresser and pulling out the bag of salt. Taking a pinch of the salt between two of his fingers, the man walked back over to Sam and pulled out the boy's already injured hand. Sam let out a small moan at the movement and Dean noticed his father stiffen, closing his own eyes in a pained response. Then, with a breath, his dad dropped the small pinch of salt onto Sam's hand and quickly wiped it off.

From his angle, Dean couldn't see anything on his brother's hand as his dad inspected it. "Dad?"

With a relieved smile, his father looked up. "We're clear."

Dean sagged in relief and Pastor Jim smiled over at him.

Carefully, John replaced his son's hand next to his head and then smoothed the boy's hair in a comforting gesture.

The minister stepped forward. "John, I spoke with Dennis."

Dean watched his father look up quickly, a suspicious glare on his face. The minister gave no further comment and Dean just looked on as both men read each other's eyes. Finally, his dad sagged down, his muscles beginning to noticeably shake.

Just as Dean's own anxiety began to rise in response to his father's trembling, he felt the pastor place a hand on his shoulder. Dean looked over at the man and the minister spoke. "Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning, Psalm 30, verse 5."

Despite being comforted by the calming gesture and voice, Dean wriggled out of Jim's grasp. "The morning may be all sorts of _rejoice_ worthy, but that don't mean shit when you're livin' out the night."

The pastor smiled sadly and turned to John. "You shouldn't assume. You know what they say about that…"

Dean saw his father raise his brows in amusement. "And what is it that I'm supposed to be assuming?"

Jim replied, "One, that I'd take sides, and two, that if I did, I take Dennis's."

Shrugging, the worn hunter walked between his son and friend and back over to the dresser. He spoke as he replaced the salt in his bag. "I thought you were always on the side of the right."

The minister smiled. "Politically…yes. As for the rest of the world, good and evil are one thing, but when a gun is pulled between two friends, I cannot believe that one or the other was entirely 'right'."

John sneered and turned to face the clergyman. "You get that one out of your big book?"

The smile faded from Jim's face. "Don't mock The Bible… not in front of me."

The elder Winchester nodded. "You know what Bible quotes I got thrown at me this week? Some real good shit. Let's see…first there was, 'The rod of correction imparts wisdom, but a child left to himself disgraces his parents'."

Through widened eyes, Dean watched his father smirk as he moved onto the next verse. "Oh, and then there was, 'Discipline your son, and he will give you peace; he will bring delight to your soul'. Dennis said he got that one straight from one of your sermons. So you tell me Jim, what else does that great book of yours say? Anything else I should be doing to bring delight to my soul?"

The minister shook his head. "John, you know I don't believe in corporal punishment. Dennis does, but then Dennis never had a Sam. He had two Deans. Perhaps if he had had a son like Sam, he might not be so quick to discipline with the 'rod'."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, or maybe he'd have just killed him."

The pastor smiled and raised his brows in concession. "Or that…"

Then Jim became silent, a downcast look upon his face as he shook his head at the ground. After a minute, he looked at his old friend. "Those verses were from Proverbs, passage 29, and they were never meant for you. You wouldn't blame a gun for the shooting would you? Don't blame the Book because someone misused it." He took a calming breath before adding, "There _is_ a verse from that passage, however, that I think would benefit you, 'Do you see a man who speaks in haste? There is more hope for a fool than for him'."

John nodded, anger marring his features. "That's fine. Get out."

The minister shook his head. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're not under attack right now. You and your family are safe."

Dean stepped back as his father's face became red with rage. "We are _never_ safe and you damn well know that! Everywhere you turn evil is waiting to take you…" He walked forward, spit shooting out between gritted teeth, "…to take your child, seduce him, betray him, strangle him, and leave him terrified and broken. So you don't get to stand there on your high and mighty altar and preach to me about not being on the defensive. My family _is_ under attack and I'm not gonna sit by with my thumb up my ass, waiting for an imaginary God to take His damn head out of the sand."

Dean took a deep breath, noticing that the minister had barely flinched during his father's tirade. After the room had been silent for a few minutes, Jim casually wiped the spit off his face and calmly replied. "You're angry with God, don't pretend you're an atheist."

John huffed and heatedly shook his head at the ceiling. Infuriated, he turned back to his old friend. "Get out, Jim!"

Dean checked on Sam, but somehow the teen still slept on, unaware of the verbal sparring going on around him.

The pastor shook his head. "Push me away all you want, John. You're at the end of your rope and I know you too well… You need help."

The man deflated a bit and nodded. "I don't need it from you."

The minister took on a confused look. "Then who will you get it from? You're pissed at God, you've isolated yourself from your friends; even if you hadn't, we both know you're too damn proud to ask for it; and you're so damn paranoid, you wouldn't even let me in the door. So who is it that you plan on turning to?"

Dean held his breath as his father met his eyes and held them for a moment. Then the man turned back to the clergyman. "I've got it under control."

The pastor rolled his eyes and then sighed. "I haven't hurt you. I consider you and your boys to be some of my dearest friends. I wouldn't have driven six hours to deliver a EMF meter if I was against you."

John nodded. "You want to trade Bible quotes? Here, I got one for you, 'Rise, take up your bed, and walk,' - John."

The minister nodded. "'Behold, I have played the fool, and have erred exceedingly'- Samuel."

For a moment, everything was silent, and then slowly Dean watched a smile break on his father's face, followed by bouts of laughter. Finally, the laughs died down and his dad wiped the tears from his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Finally, he sighed. "I should get that stitched on his backpack."

The minister smiled. "Yeah, well, I hear the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Staring fondly at his sleeping son, John nodded. "Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them."

The clergyman grew confused. "Who said that?"

John smiled. "James Baldwin. One of the guys in my squad had his book, and I had a lot of time to kill in the marines…"

Silence lingered for a bit before the pastor spoke again. "I'll leave…" Jim looked over at the Tequila bottle on the table, "…but share a drink with me first."

With a drained sigh, John rubbed his temple before looking over at the table. Giving a tired laugh, he walked over and picked up the bottle and two glasses. He turned to his friend. "Don't go expecting a confession…"

The ministered laugh and threw an arm around his friend's shoulders. "How lucky it is for you that I liked sex too much to become a catholic priest…"

John laughed and opened the door. He turned to Dean. "Watch your brother. We'll be on the porch."

Dean barely had the chance to nod before the door closed and his father and the pastor were gone.

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Dean awoke to a cramp in his neck and an indent on his face. Thoroughly confused, he blinked his cloudy eyes and attempted to mold his jaw back into its original position. Over by the window, he noticed spots of sunlight being deflected to the floor by the curtains. Startled by the light, he looked at the clock. It was six in the morning. He had been asleep for seven hours.

Rubbing the sand from his eyes, Dean pushed himself up and moved to check on his brother. From the other bed, Sam appeared to be in the same position he'd been in all night, but as Dean came closer, he noticed that Sam's eyes were open, silent tears being squeezed out every time the eyes clenched shut.

Dean kneeled down by his brother's head, "Sammy."

Sam shut his eyes once again and gasped in a large breath. Appearing embarrassed, Sam lifted a bandaged hand and tried to wipe the tears away. The movement seeming to trigger a fit of coughs and he moved his hand to his strained neck.

Dean stood up and began splitting the capsules of medication into a glass. How long had Sam been awake? How long had he been crying, suffering in silence? Guilt flooded Dean. He had slept for seven hours while Sam was lying in the bed next to him crying in pain. This was twice in the past week that he had utterly failed as a brother. His father didn't trust him anymore; his brother couldn't depend on him. He was just completely worthless.

Shoving his guilt briefly to the side, Dean approached his brother with a glass of medicated formula. Because he had fallen asleep on the job, Sam was now about six hours overdue for pain medication. God, he hoped that Sam hadn't been suffering for six hours…

"Hey Sammy, can you sit up?"

In response, Sam sucked in his lips and pushed down on his arm in an attempt to push himself up. He was only able to lift his head about three inches before the pain was too much and he fell back down to the bed. Sam scrunched up his face, clearly overwhelmed by pain and upset with his inability to sit up on his own.

Placing the glass on the end table, Dean bent down and carefully helped his brother into a seated position. Turning the pillow, he propped Sam up against the headboard. Then he lifted the glass to his brother's lips.

Both brothers held the glass together as Sam drank. The first mouthful seemed to go down without too much trouble. However, the second mouthful appeared to get stuck in his throat. Immediately, Sam choked, coughing most of the liquid back up, leaving him choking and gasping for breath.

Dean replaced the glass on the nightstand as he rubbed his brother's back in an attempt to slow the coughs. The front door opened.

"What's going on?"

Dean looked up from his formula covered brother to see his father storm into the room. Pastor Jim followed closely behind.

"I was giving him more meds and he had some trouble getting it down."

His father squinted. "When was the last time he got the meds?"

Dean felt his face turning red with failure. This was twice in a row now, added on top of the whole 'striga' thing. If his father thought he was unreliable, untrustworthy, and a disappointment before, he could only imagine what the man would think of him now. "Ten o'clock…"

His dad looked down at his watch and then looked up, startled. "Last night?"

Dean nodded and shrunk as his father's expression morphed into an angry glare.

Jim coughed. "How are you feeling, Sammy?"

Sam slowly looked up, white formula covering his chin. Upon seeing the owner of the voice, the boy jumped in shock and then scrunched his brow in confusion.

The minister laughed. "Your daddy wasn't sure if you were possessed and since he lost his EMF meter, I thought I'd come by and bring him one of mine."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise and what looked like insult. John turned to his friend, a menacing look on his face, as he issued a warning. "Jim…"

The pastor gave a submissive smile and waited for his friend to turn back around. As soon as John's attention was back on Sam, the minister caught the teen's eye and rolled his eyes at the boy's father. Sam gave a small smile through his pain.

"Get out of the way, Dean."

Dean scrambled to get out of his father's way even as the man pushed him off the bed. Dean felt completely useless. He watched as his father cleaned Sam off and then helped him finish the rest of the formula. As he watched the scene, he felt Pastor Jim put a hand on his shoulder. "A man once told me, experience is what we get right after we need it."

Dean gave a sideline glance to the minister. "You're just full of meaningful shit tonight, aren't you?"

The pastor sighed and turned Dean towards him. "I said this to your dad and I'm saying it to you too- you hold in all your guilt and blame and it's gonna just keep piling and piling until you self-destruct. You need to learn to forgive."

Annoyed, Dean shook the minister off. "I did forgive Sammy. He promised me he'd never pull shit like this again and I believe him. 'Sides, I don't think he'll be forgetting these consequences for a long time." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his brother give a slight nod of agreement.

Jim nodded. "And that's great, Dean. But like your dad, you need to forgive yourself, too."

Dean moved to argue, but the pastor cut him off. "That doesn't mean you have to forget it. It only means that you lose the anger and accept the fact that you made the decision that you made at the time and there's nothing you can do about it now. You learn from your mistakes and move on."

That was never going to happen. How could he just say that it's okay that he hid the fact that he'd been separated from Sammy? He had almost gotten Sam killed, as it was, Sam had spent the past 24 hours in pain because he had prevented him from telling his father everything that had happened that day. How could he ever forgive himself for that?

Turning away from the minister, Dean crouched down to see if he could help his father with his brother. Behind him, Dean heard Jim's whispered comments. "If you could only learn to love yourself as much as others love you…"

Unsure if he was meant to hear the comment, and not in much agreement with it, Dean ignored it. After all, he was pretty sure that his dad blamed him for Sammy getting hurt just as much as he blamed himself.

"Hold his head against the headboard so he doesn't have to use the muscles."

Dean nodded and did as his father requested. It took ten agonizing minutes, but eventually Sam was able to finish the medicated formula. Dean noticed his brother motioning as he helped him lay back down.

Understanding Sam's gestures, he began looking around. "Dad, where's the pad?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his father stiffen and make a face. "Check behind the dresser."

His father walked into the bathroom and Dean moved the dresser away from the wall. Sure enough, lying on the floor, by the wall, was the motel pad. Sam's written words, "I'm sorry. I'm a stupid kid," still at the top.

Dean picked up the pad, ripped off the page that had infuriated their father, and handed the pad to Sam. Immediately, the teen began writing. _Why would I be possessed still?_

Dean shook his head. "You're not, but we figured, better to be sure."

Sam seemed to accept that answer before writing more. _Dean, you didn't do anything wrong. This was all me._

Dean stood staring at the pad, clenching it within his shaking hands. First it was Pastor Jim and now Sammy? It figured…the two of them often thought alike; look for the good in everybody; forgive rather than punish… Well, Dean wasn't like that. He accepted responsibility for what he did and he knew he wasn't the only one who thought he had screwed up. He knew he wasn't the only one who blamed him for what happened to Sam…his dad was thinking it too. And now what? Pastor Jim and Sam were just telling him to forget about it? To ignore the swollen, black neck and the tears on his brother's face and just move on?

Dean threw the pad across the room and walked out the door.

* * *

_We'll be returning to the hunt soon, hopefully after or during the next chapter…  
As always- feedback is most appreciated…_


	15. Chapter 15

_Okay- this chapter just ran away with me. But I think there'll only be two or three more chapters left. This should be the last non-action chapter._

_And thanks to Phx for helping me clean some of this up a bit…_

_**Sara: **Lol...well, glad you enjoyed it- and that you were able to control yourself. That would've been messy!  
**Lauriena**: Yes, yes, lots of angst! But we have to wait till next chapter for the hunt as Pastor Jim wouldn't shut up!  
_

* * *

**Sica: Chapter 15**

Sam stared at the spot on the wall where the notepad had hit. That was twice now…what was it about his family and their hatred of that pad? He looked up at Pastor Jim with a disbelieving, impatient look. The minister laughed and picked up the discarded notepaper.

"Physical manifestation of your normal conversations, huh Sammy?"

Not knowing what the clergyman meant, Sam stared back confused.

Vaguely, Sam heard the shower turn on in the bathroom as the pastor explained. "You say your piece, it annoys them, and they throw your words away so that they don't have to deal with them- only now that you're mute, they're doing it physically."

Sam gave a slight nod of understanding and the minister sat down at the foot of his bed. Jim let out a heavy sigh as he sat. Slowly, Sam pushed himself up so that he was once again sitting against the headboard. Sam felt the heat rising up his face just from the man's gaze. For a moment, nothing was said; the pastor just stared at him. Then finally, just when Sam didn't think he could take it anymore, Jim spoke. "How old are you now, Sammy?"

Sam thought of his normal response, 'it's Sam,' but then opted out as writing his age would get the same point across. He wrote on the returned pad: _13_.

The minister nodded. "You know, in many cultures, thirteen is considered an adult."

Sam sighed in relief; finally, _someone_ understood.

Pastor Jim turned to the side, looking away from Sam as he spoke. "I know Dean and your dad don't always talk to you like an adult…would it be alright with you if I did?"

Sam picked up the pad. _YES!!!_ He underlined it three times.

The minister acknowledged the response, but didn't smile. In fact, he looked very somber. "I don't know if you've realized it, but your dad's a human being."

Confused by the unexpected statement, Sam felt his heart begin to pound in his chest. He sensed a lecture coming on. He knew he deserved one, but it still wasn't something that he wanted to hear…

The minister continued. "I don't think you fully understand that yet and that really isn't your fault. Your father doesn't want you to know. He wants you to think he's superman."

Sam rolled his eyes. That was true. _That_ was one of their biggest issues- his dad wanted Sam looking up to him, idolizing him, and doing everything he said without question. The fact that Sam knew he wasn't perfect was what pissed his dad off. _Dean_ was the one who hadn't yet realized that dad wasn't all-knowing…Pastor Jim really should be talking to Dean.

"In fact, he'd more than likely, literally, rip my head off if he knew what I was talking to you about this. You're dad isn't superman…and he can't always handle everything. And sometimes, he doesn't win the fight. Sometimes he hunts, and the thing he's hunting gets away…"

Sam furrowed his brow in bewilderment. When had his dad _ever_ lost a hunt? His dad could kill anything. Sure the man was an ass, but he was also the best hunter in the world…

"He doesn't want you to know that, he wants you thinking he can handle anything without even breaking a sweat."

Sam bit his lip…he knew his dad wasn't perfect, but really, he _did_ believe his dad could handle anything without breaking a sweat… Was Pastor Jim saying he couldn't?

The minister turned and met his eyes. "He's trying to protect you. He doesn't want you to worry; doesn't want you to be scared. He wants you to know how to take care of yourself and if you can't, he wants you to _know_ that you can turn to him and he'll handle it- no problem."

Sam stared back at the pastor, his heart beginning to pound hearder. He didn't like where this was going…

Jim moved forward, his eyes burning into Sam. "Sam, you getting hurt…he can't handle it."

Curiosity mixed with the apprehension that filled his body. His dad seemed to be handling it okay. Sure there was that short attack on the dresser, but otherwise…his dad said he had everything under control. He _needed_ his dad to have everything under control. Did this mean that his dad was wrong about Chubby not being able to find him?

The pastor continued. "I'm sure you've noticed that you're in a motel room…"

Shaken from his thoughts, Sam gave a small nod, which the minister returned. "You're dad pulled a gun on Keith."

Sam's eyes widened to their capacity. When the hell had that happened?

Jim answered the question in Sam's eyes with a question of his own. "How were you treating your father at Dennis'?"

Pushing his anxiety aside, Sam rolled his eyes. Here was the lecture… He picked up the pad and wrote his response. _They all treated me like a baby, like I didn't know anything. Then he wanted me to stitch up Dean and I'm not good at stitches. It made no sense. I would've hurt Dean. What was I supposed to do?_

The pastor gave a short laugh as he read the note. "Yeah, I can see your dad telling you to stitch him…and I'm sure he's done a lot of things that haven't always seemed to make much sense to you, but what I want to know is, how did you talk to him while you were there? You didn't want to do what he wanted you to do, so how did you respond?"

Sam thought back and then shrugged. _I told him that I wouldn't do it._

The minister raised his brows, mildly amused. "Oh, so you just calmly said, 'I appreciate where you're coming from, dad, but I'd like to respectfully disagree for the following reasons."

Sam gave an embarrassed smile and rolled his eyes. _I yelled and I said some mean things. I said I was sorry though_.

Jim sighed and smiled. Then he patted the teen's knee. "Every family has its fights, Sammy, and I'm not going to lecture you on how you should respect your father. But, while your dad may not think you're old enough to know this, I do."

Interest peaked at hearing something his father didn't want him to know, Sam listened attentively.

"Dennis gave your dad a lot of shit because of you. The things you said, aside from hurting him, put him in a really bad position. You've got a bad reputation now across the hunter world…"

Sam went to react, but the minister held up his hand, quickly continuing. "I'm going to ask you to not look at this from your point of view- look at it from your dad's. Everyone he knows thinks you can't handle yourself. Your dad tends to be paranoid as it is and now all these hunters, these dangerous people, think you're weak. He's lost respect with them because Dennis has spread his unwillingness to 'properly discipline' you." The pastor paused to look at him, "You know what I mean by that?"

Upset, Sam nodded.

"Hunters, not all, but quite a lot of them, are violent people. They drink a lot and they kill a lot. And when a thirteen year old, mouths off to them, their 'right thing to do' is backhand them. Your daddy's not that man and because he wouldn't hurt you, he's lost a lot."

Sam looked down, ashamed and a little angry. It really wasn't any hunter's business how his dad treated him. And where the hell did Dennis get off badmouthing him and his dad all over the hunting world? And now it was _his_ fault because Dennis was an asshole and said nasty things about them? What the hell? Not to mention, how girly is that? For Dennis to be calling up other hunters to gossip about his family…

Seeing the anger on Sam's face, the minister spoke up. "They're wrong, Sammy. Dennis shouldn't have said anything and none of them should be passing judgment. But the fact is, that's the way it is and there's nothing that can be done to stop that. I'm telling you this so that you know, because I believe that you'll take this into consideration the next time your family meets up with other hunters. Because _you_ are the one who has the most control- your dad can only react."

Sam interrupted by way of writing. _He could not order me to do things without giving me reasons for them_.

Jim stared back at him. "Can he? You think that's the best protocol in the field, to give explanations for everything? Or do you think it might be better to act as quickly as possible and then explain later?"

Unsure of what to say, Sam cast his eyes down. His dad had said the same thing in the past, but it seemed to Sam that that was just an excuse… In certain circumstances, he could see that being true, but all the time? Still, if his dad, Dean, _and_ Pastor Jim all believed that, maybe it was just one of those things he hadn't learned yet…

"Sammy, this situation with Dennis has gotten your daddy into a whole shitload of trouble. And I'm hoping that you'll be on his side and not Dennis'."

Sam's eyes shot up. _What? Of course I'm on dad's side!_

The minister smiled and nodded. "Good. Dennis told everyone that you were a disrespectful spoiled brat that is a liability on hunts and that your dad lets you walk all over him."

Sam scoffed and Jim interrupted it by placing a hand on the teen's shoulder. "Go out of your way to prove him wrong. You want to argue with your old man behind closed doors, that's one thing, but when you're in front of other hunters, if you really do care about your dad, you'll be the perfect, most obedient child on the face of the planet."

Sam smiled. _I'll be Dean._

The pastor laughed. "Yeah, that's right. Be Dean."

Sam met the minister's eyes. He could do that. And despite what his dad might think, he _was_ old enough to handle that. In fact, if his father had just told him that from the beginning, he would've been more cautious at Dennis'…

"Your dad doesn't want you to know any of this. He's trying to protect you. He feels you shouldn't have to worry about his relationships with other hunters. It's his business and if the consequences of anything begin to head your way, he'll shield you from them. And for the most part, your daddy wreaks enough interpersonal havoc that any friendships he has he destroys on his own. And really, what happened with Dennis, was more between the two of them than anything else, but you were a large factor."

Sam nodded, he knew his dad had a tendency to piss off everyone around him. He picked up the pad. _He should've told me. I would've watched myself more_.

Jim nodded. "He can be an ass, but he's got good intent. Like I said, he only wanted to protect you."

Sam scoffed. _I'm not a baby. He doesn't need to protect me._

The minister stood up. "He doesn't need to protect you?"

Sam gave a slight shake of his head.

Pastor Jim looked down at him, unconvinced. "You really believe that?"

Sam nodded.

The clergyman smiled. "So after I leave, your dad and Dean can leave you while you sleep and go to Sica Hollow and finish the hunt?"

Sam felt his pulse skyrocket as his eyes widened in fear.

Jim nodded. "There's no shame in needing other people, Sammy. Truth is, I know what's out there and so does your dad…and he _does_ need to protect you. It's his job. You're too important to him. Something happens to you or Dean and your dad goes down too. I'm sure you've noticed it in the past few days. This ghost hurt you and whatever hurts you, hurts him. Just because you have someone who loves and protects you, that doesn't mean you're a baby. You just have to remember that your dad is an asshole, but he loves you. And whatever he's doing, it's to protect you."

Sam looked at his pad. He understood that, but it didn't change how frustrating it was being left out of things all the time, even if it was his dad's way of protecting him. He looked up as Pastor Jim kneeled in front of him. "Sammy, you getting hurt like this…I can't tell you how guilty your dad feels about it. As much as he yelled at you or Dean, he blames himself a hundred times more. Dennis was right about one thing, you and Dean are huge liabilities to your dad. He's barely hanging on right now."

Sam felt his breathing pick up. What did that mean? Did that mean his dad couldn't protect him? Did that mean he was going to get his father killed? Did Pastor Jim's speech about his father being human mean that his dad would make a mistake? Could the fat man find him?

Sam remembered how he felt watching his dad put a hole in the dresser. He had been worried at the time that his dad wouldn't be able to handle it if the fat man came back for him. As it was, Sam seemed to be the only one who could see the fat man, but somehow he figured his dad could work around that. But now…Pastor Jim was saying maybe not?

"Sammy, I wasn't trying to upset you…"

Sam looked up at the minister through wide eyes. His hands clenched around the bedspread in panic. Suddenly, he felt very exposed. He had been okay with his dad and Dean around, but if they couldn't protect him…then Chubby could come back at any minute. He could kill any one of them. Dean and his father wouldn't even see it coming. And he _really_ didn't want to be strangled again. Sam gasped as he remembered the feeling of the fat man strangling him. His throat seemed to tighten, his breaths whistling as he struggled to take in air.

"Get out."

Sam flicked his eyes up at the incensed voice. When had his dad come out of the bathroom?

Obviously caught, Jim slowly stood. In one quick motion, John came over, grabbed the minister by the shirt and threw him away from the bed. The room shook as the pastor collided with the dresser.

To his right, Sam saw the door open and his brother step in. Obviously, Dean had not gone far in his anger and was well able to hear the crashing noise.

Standing up, Jim straightened his shirt. "John, he's old enough to-"

John stepped forward and the pastor stepped back. "_You_ don't make that decision. _I'm_ his father! Even if he _is_ old enough, he's injured and traumatized right now!"

The pastor went to speak again, but was interrupted as John punched him in the face. Sam's eyes widened as he watched the minister hit the ground with a thud. His father backed up and shook out his hand and Dean came over to the bed and sat down next to Sam.

Stumbling a bit, Jim managed to pick himself off the ground. Lifting a hand, he dabbed lightly at his split lip. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should have kept my mouth shut." The clergyman gave a small smile. "Occupational hazard, I tend to butt in when I should shut it, but really, I only had the best intentions."

The elder Winchester looked unamused. "Sam is _my_ son…" The man moved forward, pointing his finger at the minister as he continued. "I make the decisions about what he needs to know. It's none of your damn business!"

Looking somewhat shaken and contrite, Jim nodded.

John shook his head in disgust. "I should've known not to leave him alone with you. After all, that's what your wife did and look what happened there."

Immediately, the minister paled and anger flashed in his eyes. Sam pushed himself back- he had never seen Pastor Jim get angry. The man had the patience of a saint.

When the man spoke, it was through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry that you've never experienced the forgiveness of a good and merciful God. And if the Lord wants your relationship with forgiveness to begin with me, then I will find a way to forgive you for what you just said." The minister took a shaky breath, appearing on the verge of tears. "But I am _not_ God. I am only a man. And I need to pray for God to give me strength to forgive you, because right now I don't have it in me." And with that, Pastor Jim left.

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Sam shrunk back, unsure, as his dad crouched in front of him, anger still marring his features. "Sam, look at me."

He met his father's eyes, despite the anxiety he felt at the man's no-nonsense tone.

"Jim was full of shit. _You_ don't worry about anything; I've got this."

Sam felt unsure, after all, why would Pastor Jim lie? But there was no denying the confidence in his father's expression. And really, he _hadn't_ ever known a time when his father had lost a hunt. But still, why would Pastor Jim have said it if everything was fine?

Apparently sensing Sam's doubts, his father spoke again. "Sam…you have _nothing_ to worry about. Everything's fine with me. Your brother's fine, and as soon as you're feeling better, that ghost and it's little mind creation are gonna know what it feels like to burn in Hell."

Sam flicked his eyes to his brother as Dean hit him on the arm. "Yeah, Sammy. We've just been bitchy 'cause we're cooped up here, but we're good. Dad and I are fine, dude. We got this."

Sam took a deep breath and sighed. He was sure Pastor Jim had a reason for saying what he said, and from now on he _would_ watch the way he acted when other hunters were around, but as for his dad not being able to handle stuff…

Sam looked up into his father's strong, assured eyes. His dad could deal with this. He could. There was no doubt anywhere on the man's face. Sam felt himself relax once again. Pastor Jim was wrong and Sam was tremendously grateful. His dad was in total control, and the man knew what he was doing…

Sam indicated the pad, which his dad handed over. _You really pull a gun on Keith?_

His father gave an amused grimace and then shrugged. "The kid was gettin' on my nerves."

Sam smiled. _I thought Keith was the nice one_.

Standing up, his dad ruffled his hair. "He was…that's what was gettin' on my nerves."

Sam laughed.

Still smiling, his father looked down at him with a rarely, obviously loving expression. "Rest, Sammy. We need you healed."

Sam began to scoot himself down- pain medication truly worked wonders- but stopped as his stomach let out a large rumbling sound.

His dad raised his brows. "Hungry?"

He was hungry, but the thought of swallowing anything, much less whole food was unbearable. And the idea of chewing? There was no way he could do that…

His dad seemed to read his mind. "You can't chew anything yet. We've got some baby formula and some Ensure. It's not too bad, tastes like a chocolate milk shake…"

Immediately, Sam grimaced. Baby formula? So that's what he had been drinking. Instinctively, he was insulted. It seemed like his father and brother feeding him baby formula was just another one of those 'physical manifestations' of their unspoken dynamics. Picking up the pad, Sam began to write, letting his family know just how insulted he was. They didn't need to get _baby_ formula. They could've picked up more Ensure or some other supplemental drink.

Halfway through his writing, Sam looked at his dad and stopped. The man was exposed, which was a very rare occurrence. For the first time that he could remember, his father seemed to be one hundred percent man- zero percent hunter. Not only that, but they had just been joking, his dad had been under a lot of stress, _Dean_ had been under a lot of stress…

Looking at his father's soft eyes, Sam ripped off the top paper and crumpled it up. It seemed, there were some things that weren't worth the battle and baby formula wasn't worth destroying one of the few moments his father ever let down his guard.

Sam wrote a new message on a new piece of paper. _Ensure, thanks_.

Reading the note, his father smiled, and poured a glass of the chocolate shake. With Dean still seated next to him on the bed, Sam leaned back into his pillow and slowly consumed the beverage. It was a little thick, but the taste actually wasn't too bad. It was almost amazing how much easier it was to swallow now that the pain medication had kicked in. He honestly had been thinking he was going to die before Dean woke up. Each _breath_ had been agonizing and there had been a few points where he had held his breath for at least a minute in the hope that if everything stop moving, the pain would take a break. Swallowing would have been out of the question. Now, it still hurt, and it was uncomfortable, but he could manage it.

Dean slid over towards him, so that their arms were touching and then crossed his ankles.

"Hey dad? I didn't know Pastor Jim was married…"

Sam peeked his eyes over the glass to see his father's reaction. The man nodded, a slightly sad look appearing on his face. "It was a long time ago. He was married and had a daughter."

Sam raised his brows in surprise. He never had a clue. Obviously, Dean hadn't either. "Really? Totally never knew that…What happened?"

This time their father looked to the floor as he shook his head. He slouched down, putting his hands into his pockets as he spoke. "One day, when his daughter was two, his wife went out to get something from the store in town. She told him to watch the baby. Jim was in the home office, typing a sermon, his daughter was playing in the next room. She was going between the two rooms, pushing her doll carriage back and forth. Jim got caught up in whatever he was writing and his wife came home. She asked where the baby was, he said she was in the other room, when his wife went in to check on her, she was dead."

Sam felt his eyes tear up in sympathy for their long time friend and Dean, obviously upset by the story, put his hand on Sam's arm. Their father rubbed his temple as he continued. "Somehow she had gotten her hands on a Lego piece and I guess she put it in her mouth…she ended up choking on it. Jim did CPR, but she never revived. He said someone told him she had probably been dead for about ten minutes before they found her. He never understood what happened. He didn't know where the Lego came from; they had never owned any- and he swears she had been in his office only two minutes before his wife came home…but like I said, he was caught up in what he was writing."

Sam bit his lip as his dad sat down at the foot of the bed.

"His wife never got over it. She didn't speak to him, to anyone, after that day and about three months later, Jim came home and found her hanging from the ceiling. That's how he got introduced to the business. He never believed in ghosts or the supernatural until she started haunting him. Another hunter, Kevin Gaffey, was in his congregation. He helped Jim out, opened his eyes. His wife was the first corpse he burned."

To his right, Sam heard Dean take in a deep breath. "Dad…"

It was one word, but Sam knew what his brother meant and from the way their dad flinched, he knew what Dean meant as well. That was a really nasty blow that their father had dealt. Pastor Jim might have freaked him out a little bit, and he may not have been accurate in everything he shared, but Sam had no doubt that the man really had been only trying to help.

Their dad stood up, a angry expression on his face. "He had no business talking to Sammy. _Especially_ behind my back and when Sam's still injured."

The words and tone were annoyed, but Sam could see a hint of guilt reflected in his father's eyes. Whether the pastor had been out of line or not, he had been a _good_ friend for many years and his father had really hurt the man. Still, even if his dad did feel guilty, Sam knew there'd be no apology. His father would never apologize, particularly if he was still angry. Pastor Jim had been right- his father did often speak in haste…and in rage- and it was _that_ fault that seemed to drive everyone away.

Just as Sam finished his drink, his dad tapped his leg. "Go to sleep, dude."

Sam blinked in agreement. The events of the past hour had left him drained. Dean took the glass from his hand and helped him lay back down. It took barely a minute for Sam to fall asleep.

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_Next chapter is full-on hunting! Get ready to go back to the forest!  
As always- I love feedback…_


	16. Chapter 16

_I am, once again, SO sorry about the long wait. At least it's a long one this time... Thank you so much for your patience and your continued interest in this story. I think this will be the second to last chapter. I really have appreciated all of your support throughout this story. Thank you…_

_**Lauriena**: Lol...I liked your song there. I could be wrong, maybe it was demonic, but I'm thinking the lego was just one of those things... Maybe his daughter picked it up somewhere and just held on to it. I don't know... Maybe we'll never know..._

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**Sica: Chapter 16**

"Knock it off!" Dean turned away from his brother and began looking out the car window. Not that cornfields and wheat fields were all that exciting, but it beat facing in the other direction…the direction where his brother sat.

He didn't know why he was sitting in the back seat with Sam anyway. Obviously if the kid was well enough to come on the hunt, he was well enough to sit in the back by himself…except that he might not have been well enough for the hunt. It was hard to tell. It had been over a week since Sam was strangled and he did appear much better. His voice wasn't one hundred percent yet, but at least he could talk now- and swallowing no longer seemed to be an issue. But still, Sammy hadn't really left the motel room until today, so it was questionable as to how well he actually was versus how well he was pretending to be so that he wouldn't be left alone. As it seemed though, the physical wounds seemed to be healing faster than the emotional ones.

Two hands clapped mere centimeters from Dean's face and he jumped. To his right, raspy giggles sounded. Dean turned and growled. "Seriously, if you don't cut it out-"

Sam smiled and leaned forward, dancing with a smug expression. "You'll do what?"

Dean squinted his eyes. This was so unfair. Sam had been tormenting him for an hour and there really _wasn't_ anything he could do back. His brother was still too injured for Dean to go after him.

Dean went with a different approach, schooling his expression into complete seriousness. "You're really beginning to piss me off, cut it out."

Sam sat back, a thoughtful look on his face. Dean sighed and went back to looking out the window. As soon as they stopped, he was getting into the front seat. Obviously Sammy was more than well enough to sit in the back without a problem.

Dean rolled his eyes as he thought through all the annoying things his brother had been doing to him throughout the car ride. How was it even possible for someone wearing a neck brace to have that range of movement?

_Clap_. Dean jumped. That was it…

With a shout, Dean turned on his brother. Sam attempted a scream which became a loud exhale as his vocal cords refused to participate.

Dean leaned forward on his brother, grabbing at Sam's wrists to prevent the boy from defending himself. Sam kicked back with his legs and a loud, no-nonsense voice shouted from the front seat. "Dean!"

Immediately Dean released his brother's hands and sat up straight in his seat. Sam smiled and stuck out his tongue as Dean just narrowed his eyes.

The voice in the driver's seat sounded again. "Knock it off."

Dean's eyes flicked over to the rear-view mirror where he found his father looking at him. Giving his dad an annoyed, reluctant look, he sat back and returned to looking out the window.

A sigh came from up front. "Sammy, leave your brother alone."

There was movement to his right, followed by a half-whispered whine. "But I'm booored."

Dean turned to glare at his bored sibling. "Well, don't you have a book to read for school or something?"

Crossing his arms, Sam huffed. "I would if I was _in_ school. Now I've been out for a week!"

Their dad spoke up once again. "You didn't miss anything. Half the schools were on spring break last week anyway. As soon as we finish this, you'll be back in a school."

"Not the one I liked though…"

If their dad heard the quiet comment, he ignored it.

Still annoyed, Dean turned back to his brother. "Maybe you should be getting your head into this hunt instead of screwing around…"

Sam looked back, offended, but didn't say anything. Slowly, he pushed himself toward the other side of the car and began to look out his window. Finally, Dean thought, he could have some peace.

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Sam chewed on his lip as he worked to keep right behind his father and brother, although Dean was more next to him than behind him. Suddenly, his father stopped and Sam walked into him. That was the fifth time since they entered the forest.

In front of him, his father sighed loudly and rubbed his temples. "Sammy…"

His father trailed off and Sammy cringed. He couldn't help it. He was freaking out- the hell with being brave. In fact, maybe it was a sign of how mature he was that he was perfectly willing to admit that he was scared and he didn't want to be here. Why did they have to take down Trevor and Chubby anyway? It was _Dennis's_ hunt to begin with; _he_ should be the one trekking through the haunted forest…

Straightening up, John turned to Dean. "Dean, stay next to your brother and both of you stay _five_ feet behind me…" He looked directly at Sam, "…not two."

Lowering his head and pulling at his neck brace, Sam stepped back. Dean moved over and squeezed his shoulder. Once again, the trio began walking.

What if he screwed up again? What if the fat man came back for him? What if the fat man went after Dean…of their dad? What if he ended up an orphan?! Sure, Dean was eighteen, but didn't you have to be twenty-one to get guardianship? Sam grimaced through the ache in his neck as he looked up at his brother. "Dean?"

Dean looked down at the whisper and Sam continued. "Now that Pastor Jim's not speaking to dad…what happens if…"

Dean raised his brows expectantly. "If…"

Sam huffed and motioned with his hands. "You know…"

Dean stared at him blankly, still waiting for a further explanation.

The question was answered from up front. "Sammy, nobody's dying today. This is a regular salt and burn and you can't sit on the sidelines. You got thrown from the horse- now you gotta get your ass back on it."

Sam crossed his arms and glared at his dad's back. He never said anything about wanting to sit on the sidelines. He _didn't_ want to sit on the sidelines. He just wanted to move back to Baltimore, _wit_h his family and go back to school and say goodbye to South Dakota. He certainly didn't want to be sitting alone in the car while his dad and Dean fought the ghost and Chubby by themselves. Sure he was freaked, but that didn't mean he'd abandon his family…

Up ahead, Sam spied the rock on which he had first met Trevor. He was definitely afraid of the fat man, but as far as Trevor- he still felt more betrayed than anything else. Trevor had seemed like a nice kid and Sam really had considered Trevor to be a friend. He had been trying to help him and then Trevor just turned on him and ordered Chubby to kill him. It was odd in a way, to be so fearful of the fat man and not at all afraid of his master. Sam grated out a question for his father. "If Trevor made Chubby, why did Chubby kill him?"

His dad shrugged. "It's the way it goes. Tulpas don't start out corporeal. They grow into that. It takes a lot of concentration and feeling to create one. Trevor was probably believing in this thing and focused on it for years. Once enough psychic force is generated, the tulpa is created."

His dad turned to look at him. "In the beginning, the fat man would've just been a presence. Gradually, he would've grown in power until _Trevor_ would've been able to see him, but to the rest of the world, Chubby still would've just been a batch of thick staticky air."

Dean snapped his fingers. "You think that's why Sammy could see him the other night and the rest of us couldn't? Cause Trevor was in him and _Trevor_ could see him?"

Their father nodded. "Yeah…I've been thinking that."

Sam shook his head, now even more concerned. That explanation didn't fit, which meant his dad's assumptions weren't right, which meant they weren't fully prepared. "That can't be dad. I saw Chubby killing Trevor even after Trevor was out of me."

His dad put a calming hand on his shoulder. "I know, Sammy. Tulpas gain their strength from acting out the commands of their creator. Each time the fat man killed someone at Trevor's will, he would've become stronger and more corporeal. By the time he killed Trevor, he would've been fully created."

Just as Sam was about to point out the holes in that theory, Dean asked his own question. "I don't get it. Why kill Trevor?"

Their father shrugged again. "Once they become fully…alive…tulpas always kill their creators. And then they die too. They're definitely on the short end of the demonic brain pool. Only reason Chubby's still here is because Trevor's soul and mind stayed around, and it was Trevor's mind that created him."

Dean nodded in understanding. "So, because Trevor's mind's still around and still believing in the fat man, the fat man still exists."

Their father nodded back. "I'm thinking for the most part, Chubby's non-corporeal. Only time he's solid is when Trevor gives him a mission." He looked at Sam. "That's why you could see him when he was killing Trevor or trying to kill you, but when we were on the hunt, you needed Trevor in you to see him."

"…Because he wasn't on a mission to kill when we were hunting that night…" Sam tried to wrap his head around the new information.

Their dad agreed. "We need to torch the bones: no ghost, no tulpa."

Sam bit his lip as he thought. "Can the tulpa be stopped? Like, if he's on a mission. Is there anything we can do to stop him?"

His father considered the question before answering. "You said he bled and was afraid of your knife?"

Sam nodded and their dad smirked. "Seems to me our ghost created a mortal tulpa. He based it off of a man- and a man can be killed."

Sam felt himself relax. It was good to know that the tulpa could be killed even if they didn't find Trevor's bones.

Dean spoke up. "Dad? Couldn't Trevor just resurrect him or something?"

Their dad concurred. "He could draw a healing scene and heal him. But hopefully by that time we would've torched the little bastard."

Sam felt his heart sink. He really didn't want to be here. He didn't want to see Trevor or Chubby again. He just wanted to be back in Baltimore, with his family safe. Hunting blew…

Now standing by the rock, his dad called over. "Look alive, Sammy. We've got a rock and a meadow to search and not a lot of time before nightfall, we need to move our asses."

Sam grumbled into his salt-lined neck brace- the circle of salt to prevent another possession- and began the search for his betrayer's bones.

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It had been over an hour now. The area under, over, and surrounding the rock had been thoroughly searched with no bones to be found. And now, it was on to the meadow. They had already searched that area, but it had been nighttime then. Now, although it was nearing sunset, there was still plenty of daylight and hopefully, the sun would illuminate what they were looking for.

Sam sat on the ground as he used a hand shovel to stab through the dirt under a bush. About five feet to his left, Dean was doing the same. Although his brother had been sticking close to him since the hunt had begun, Sam's nerves were on edge. It may have been the park, or it may have been everything that happened, but he constantly had this feeling that at any minute, the fat man was going to appear out of nowhere and attack.

Giving up the search under his current bush, Sam stood up and stretched, preparing to move on to the next piece of shrubbery. As he stretched, he noticed a funny looking tree on the far side of the field. From his current position, the bark on the bottom of the tree seemed to be a lighter color than the rest.

Curious, Sam looked over at his brother, to be sure he hadn't moved, and walked the twenty feet to examine the tree. As he got closer, he realized that the bark on the base of the tree had been removed and a design had been carved into the wood underneath. It wasn't subtle. He found it hard to believe that the carving had been there the other night; someone would've noticed it. Perhaps it was a marking made by Dennis or his sons since they had last been there…

Finally at the large plant in question, Sam bent down to examine the carving. It was crudely etched and primarily consisted of human-shaped figures. The first line of figures included five larger figures and one smaller one. All six appeared to be holding things in their hands. What the objects were, Sam couldn't tell, but they all seemed to be pointed at a faintly carved, smaller figure. In the line below it, the six figures were repeated, however, there were "x"s covering their bodies. To the side stood a much larger figure holding a knife. Time stood still and Sam knew what he was looking at. It was exactly the same feeling he had had when he was studying Trevor's drawing on Doug's bed.

Shaking in fear, Sam stood up to warn his family. When he turned around, the fat man was standing over Dean, the knife glowing as it caught the sun. Dean, completely unaware, was still crouched on the ground, sifting through dirt.

Filled with adrenaline, Sam opened his mouth and screamed his brother's name. Unfortunately, his unstable voice took that moment to stop working. Having no other way to warn his family, Sam ran.

Out of the corner of his eye, on the opposite end of the field, Sam noticed his father stand up and look at him curiously. At the same time, in front of him, the fat man reached down, grabbed Dean by the hair and pulled his head back. The knife glistened as it was put to Dean's throat, sliding across it with ease. A red line appeared in the knife's wake, dripping its way down Dean's neck. Terrified, Sam pulled his own weapon from the back of his pants.

He skidded to a halt and tried desperately to get his arms to stop shaking so he could accurately shoot his brother's attacker without shooting Dean. But there was no way. Chubby was holding Dean right up against him. Dean's hands were pulling at the fat man's arm and head…there was no way Sam could take the shot.

Suddenly, his father came into view, landing a flying kick at the fat man's back. Chubby released Dean, doubling over and bringing his hand to cover his now bruised kidney.

Sam watched his father pull out his own gun, but before he could bring it up, the fat man had knocked it out of his hands. His dad was a big man, but Chubby _towered_ over him. With one more swing, the fat man had knocked his father to the ground.

Regripping his knife, Chubby bent down and plunged his knife into Dean's back. Sam saw his brother grimace, tears of pain falling from his eyes. Then, the knife was yanked back out and the whites of Dean's eyes shone as they rolled back into his head.

A beefy hand came down and shoved Dean's now peaceful face into the dirt as the other hand poised to strike again. In the time it took Sam to blink, his father had covered Dean's body with his own. The knife came down and Sam heard his father scream. The bloody knife was lifted and brought down once more.

Fury flooded his body and Sam fired. The fat man staggered back, knife still in hand. Sam fired again and the tulpa jerked at the shot. He fired again…and again…and again…and again. Six shots in all- all the bullets his revolver could hold- and every one of them hit center mass.

For a moment the tulpa stood, it's evil eyes glaring at the boy who had gotten away. Blood ran down the front of its shirt and Sam stared back, fully confident, waiting for the creature to fall.

The tulpa's face distorted as an angry sneer and squinted eyes accurately portrayed the psychic creation's underlying evil. Then Chubby swayed…but he didn't fall. With an animalistic yell, the fat man moved forward, charging at the teen who had dared try to kill him.

Frozen in fear, Sam just stood as the fat man came closer, his knife, still dripping blood, gripped tightly in his hand. Chubby may have been designed in the likeness of a man, but he had definitely been given some superhuman powers- a skeletal bullet proof jacket being one of them.

Sam took a breath, preparing for his death, when Chubby abruptly fell to the ground- John Winchester on top of him. The tulpa immediately flipped around and John fought the creature for the knife. As the two wrestled on the ground, Sam heard his father grit a command through his teeth. "Sammy! Check Dean!"

Immediately, Sam ran to his fallen brother.

Dean was lying face down in the tall grass, not having moved since his final stabbing. Sam felt the terror-spawned tears fill his eyes. His brother's jacket was covered in blood and there was no evidence that his chest was rising. "Please…"

With a shaking hand, Sam reached down to his brother's shoulder. "Dean, please don't be dead…"

Then, with a great deal of effort, he flipped the eighteen-year-old over. Dean's head lolled as his body hit the grass with a thud. Blood covered his neck. Still Sam saw no rise and fall of his brother's chest.

The tears had broken free by now, but Sam ignored them as he brought a trembling hand to the bloody neck to check Dean's pulse. Immediately, he felt the strong beat beneath his fingers and a smile lit up his face. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…"

Now that he knew Dean was alive, he had to be helped. Carefully, Sam bent down and put an ear over his brother's mouth to make sure he was breathing.

Hot breath hit his ear, followed by a weak, slurred voice. "What 'ell yooing?"

Sam smiled more and brushed the tears off his face. When he sat back, he noticed Dean's eyes were still closed, but at least his brother wasn't unconscious…or dead.

The sound of grunting and yelling came back into his awareness and Sam looked up to see his father, now standing, narrowly dodge a swipe of the knife. Apparently, the wrestling was over and the fighting pair had moved on to hand-to-hand combat.

"Dad?"

Sam looked back down at his brother. Dean was bleeding- badly. Removing his undershirt, Sam rolled Dean onto his side. Then, finding the stab wound in his brother's shoulder, Sam bunched up the shirt and applied pressure. He had one hand on the shirt on his brother's back, and the other hand on his brother's front, the two hands pushing toward each other. And that's when he realized the knife had gone through. Dean was bleeding in the front as well- not to mention his neck. It was clear from the rate of blood flow that no major arteries had been severed, but without a doubt Dean's shoulder had received quite a bit of vein and tissue damage.

Wrapping the undershirt around to cover both sides of the wound, Sam continued applying pressure. His own neck was killing him, probably due to the stress and now, the physical strain he was putting on himself to keep Dean stable.

As he held the wound, Sam watched his injured father fight the tulpa. His dad was amazing. Sure, the man was an ass. He was stubborn, pig-headed, rude, insensitive, inconsiderate, and lacking in some important parenting skills, but that didn't change the fact that he was an incredible hunter. Here the man was, twice stabbed, fighting a supernatural knife-wielding creature twice his size, and somehow, he was winning. He wished his dad had been there that night when Chubby had strangled him. He knew then that his dad would've been able to protect him, but watching the fight now cemented it.

With a determined, furious, look, his father landed another punch to the tulpa's jaw. The fat man finally dropped the knife as he fell to the ground. Immediately, John picked up the dropped weapon and before Chubby could react, the knife was thrusted through his eye. Despite everything that had happened, Sam cringed.

Lifting a tired foot, John step on the fat man's stilled chest as he pulled out the knife. Then, he leaned down and slit the creature's throat through to the spine. Sam turned away at the site, suppressing a desire to gag.

Trevor's face was right in front of him.

Startled Sam hopped back, but then remembering his defenseless brother, he crawled over Dean and toward the ghost. This time, _Trevor_ moved back.

Sam watched as the dead boy looked fearfully at the scene in the middle of the field. His tulpa, his bodyguard, his minion…was now dead. Obviously terrified, Trevor turned to Sam. "Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, but you were going to kill me. You were the only friend I ever had…"

The ghostly whisper echoed through the meadow and Sam scoffed. Even face to face with the ghost, Sam wasn't afraid of him. He was pissed. And this piece of shit had the nerve to not only betray him, but also send the fat man to stab his father and brother?

The neck brace he was wearing had been lined with salt to protect him from possession. Sam ripped it off.

He stared dead boy down with implacable rage. "You afraid of my father, Trevor?"

Meekly Trevor nodded and Sam narrowed his eyes. "You should be afraid of _me_."

Then, before Trevor could react, Sam threw himself at the ghost. His father shouted his name in the background and soon Sam felt the familiar feeling of Trevor's presence in his mind.

In the past, the two had coexisted fairly well together- neither invading the other's thoughts. But this time was different. In his own head, Sam felt his way into Trevor's memories, ripping the boy's mind apart. He felt Trevor's absolute panic, his fear of Sam and the tulpa-murdering John Winchester.

Sam ignored the ghost's feelings, his own fury easily overcoming Trevor's fear. He was on a mission. He searched through every thought that crossed the ghost's mind. Memories of being bullied, tormented, abused, memories of his parents telling him how much they hated him, how disappointed they were that _he_ was their son and not somebody better, memories of creating Chubby, confiding in Chubby, feeling protected by Chubby, and then betrayed by Chubby- and then Sam found what he was looking for. Jumping to his feet, he ran- straight into his father.

The man bent down to him, panicked, but Sam had no time for that. He pointed to the far right area of the field. "He was over there and later on he had the fat man bury him under that tree. He's buried. That's why we couldn't find the bones. They're only a few feet under."

His father looked conflicted for a moment and Sam huffed in annoyance. Breaking out of his father's hold, Sam ran to the middle of the field, picked up a shovel, ran to the tree and began digging. Within a minute, his father had grabbed him and pulled the shovel from his hands.

Sam tried to protest, but was immediately cut off as his dad knocked his feet out from under him and straddled him, pinning him face-down into the ground. Trevor's constant feeling of terror morphed with his own sudden onset fear, leaving Sam struggling for breath. Had his father been possessed too? But by what? Did tulpas have ghosts? His father had killed the fat man, maybe the fat man had become a ghost and possessed his dad! Sam let his forehead fall to the ground in hopelessness as tears filled his eyes. It was one thing to die at the hands of the fat man, but to die at the hands of his father…

The combined fear became too much and Sam struggled against passing out. Vaguely he felt something sprinkled onto the back of his head. Blinding white flashed before his eyes and a cool breeze seemed to flow through his body as Trevor was torn out of him with a scream. A nearly indescribably clean feeling filled him- as if he had been purified. Being exorcized was clearly different than what he had done in the past, when he had _knocked_ Trevor out of his body.

Roughly, Sam was flipped onto his back and then pulled by his collar into a seated position. His father's terrified and enraged eyes appeared before him. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

Sam felt himself being shaken and he lifted a hand, weakly trying to pry open his father's grip, but the man ignored his son's actions. "You don't take off that collar! I thought we'd gone through this, Sammy! I thought you learned your lesson! You didn't learn _shit_! You think you're tough shit now, is that it? You think you're a teenager so you can do whatever the hell you want, right?!"

Sam shut his eyes at the volume and the spit that landed on his face. Then, without warning, he was jerked to his feet.

His father continued to yell, but the exorcism had left Sam numb. He felt no reaction to his father's admonishment, other than pain- and relief that his dad hadn't been possessed and the fat man was still dead.

Without thought, Sam wrapped his arms around his father's waist and hugged him. He didn't care- he was overwhelmed, unable to think, and grateful that his father had killed the tulpa. Screw what anyone thought about it.

Suddenly, Sam realized that it was quiet- the yelling had stopped. And not only that, but his father was hugging him back…

The comfort of the gesture seemed to wake Sam's mind and his eyes snapped open. Dean still hadn't moved. Sam pulled himself back and looked up. "Dad, Dean…"

His father, whose eyes were suspiciously bright, looked over to where Dean lay. He pushed Sam away. "Keep pressure on his wound. I'll dig up the bones."

Sam nodded and began to move when he noticed his arms were covered in blood, his dad's blood. He remembered- his father had been stabbed in the back, twice. Sam looked up with horror on his face. "Dad…"

His father shook his head. "I'm alright. Take care of your brother."

Sam disagreed. "You're-"

"This isn't up for discussion, that bleeding needs to be stopped! Go! Now!"

Sam stood his ground. "Dad, you're hurt too-"

His father's face turned red with rage as he reached out and threw Sam towards Dean. "GO!"

Sam turned and ran. He slid to a stop next to Dean and resumed his double-sided pressure on the wound. Behind him he heard his dad start to dig.

"Put that collar back on, Sammy!"

Briefly taking his hands off the bloody undershirt, Sam followed his father's command. Then he moved his attention back to Dean.

Dean moaned in pain as his injured flesh was squeezed. Sam winced in sympathy. "Sorry, Dean."

Eyelids fluttered, but remained closed. A soft whisper, barely audible, left Dean's lips. "How's dad?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Stubborn and nasty."

Dean winced as he licked his lips. "How're you?"

Sam smiled. Leave it to Dean to be stabbed through with a slit throat and still be worried about him. "I'm fine, Dean."

Dean sagged below him, his lips mouthing, "good," but no sound came out. Sam recognized that his brother was fading. He pressed tighter on the wound. "Dean, stay awake."

The eyelids lifted to reveal dulled green eyes. "I'm up."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I can see that…" But despite the fallacy of Dean's statement, his brother did seem more alert- and it was the first time he'd opened his eyes since he'd been stabbed.

"I feel like shit."

Sam looked down with a smile. "You look like shit."

Dean grimaced. "When'd you get so freakishly strong? Seriously…gonna have to cut down on your Wheaties."

Sam repositioned himself so that he could watch his dad dig as he answered his brother. "It's not the Wheaties, it's the spinach."

The eyelids fluttered and Dean smirked. "Forget it. You're not getting out of eating vegetables."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm almost fourteen, you know."

The smile never left Dean's face, but his eyes once again drifted shut. "Yeah, well, in the immortal words of dad, I don't give a shit if you're thrity-two. So long as you're my brother, you'll do as I say."

Sam grinned and nodded. "Yes, sir. Now keep your freakin' eyes open."

Ever the obedient one, Dean followed the order.

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_Only one chapter left! I think anyway…  
Thanks for tuning in for so long- especially considering my slowed updates…_


	17. Chapter 17

_This is it. The last chapter… thank you all for continuing to read and review this story. I really appreciate you continued interest. And thanks especially for your patience- I appreciate it._

_**IheartSam: **Glad you liked it! And hopefully you'll like this one too, at least you'll find out about Dean and John._

_**Renniespice: **Thanks! Glad you're still interested! Here it is!_

_**Lauriena**: I'm happy you liked all the fear- and that you noticed how Sam's worked through his. The poor boy really did try- it was like what Dean told him, if his family was in danger, he could push his fears aside and be brave._

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**Sica: Chapter 16**

Sam ignored the shooting pains through his neck as he tightened the pressure to his brother's shoulder. On the other end of the field, Trevor's bones were almost completely revealed. Somehow, his dad was still working, his strength never wavering, despite the amount of blood present on the back of his jacket.

Off to his right, the practically decapitated fat man laid in a bloody heap. Sam stared at the once fearsome creature, studying it, wondering how it had ended up haunting his dreams. It hadn't been his first encounter with evil…although truth be told, _most_ of those encounters had ended up haunting his dreams. But still, Chubby had had the biggest effect on him and as Sam looked back on his behavior over the past week, he couldn't help but feel embarrassed. He had acted like a frightened child and he didn't know if he should be appreciative or insulted that his family had allowed him to…

As Sam stared blankly at the fat man, he noticed the creature's bloodied neck seem to move. Sam straightened his posture, moving into a kneeling position to get a better look. Sure enough, the fat man's neck was moving, seeming to be stitching itself back together. Frantically, Sam looked around for Trevor.

Unfortunately, from his position on the ground, he didn't have a very good view. "Dean, can you stand? I think Trevor's drawing again and I need to find him, but I have to keep pressure on your wound."

For a moment, there seemed to be no response; Dean was just staring blankly at a tree. Then, slowly, he moved, using his good arm to try and push himself up. He made it into a kneeling position before his eyes rolled back and he became limp- falling into Sam.

With a grunt, Sam caught his brother and in the process, lost his grip on the wound. He sighed, annoyed with himself. He never should've asked Dean to stand. He was bleeding. The number one rule to treating blood loss was to have the person lying down with their legs elevated. How the hell could he have forgotten that? Dean was depending on him!

Carefully, he laid his brother back down on the grass and resumed the pressure. His father's voice rang out and Sam jumped. "What's wrong, Sammy?"

Sam looked up and rather than explain what was going on with Dean, he nodded to Chubby. His dad followed his eyeline and with an annoyed grumble, pulled a pistol from his jacket. Walking up to the dead creature, John fired 18 rounds of his semi-automatic into the tulpa's head and heart. Then he pocketed the gun and began pouring lighter fluid on the bones.

Sam raised his brows at the way his dad seemed to just take the fat man's attempted re-animation in stride. Then he laughed…poor Trevor…this was turning out to be quite a bad day for him. On some level, he really did feel bad for the ghost- and he did believe Trevor when he had said that Sam had been his only friend. Every encounter that he had had with Trevor had been filled with the dead boy's fear, but at least now, he'd be put to rest…provided he didn't end up in Hell. Sam stopped laughing- poor Trevor.

With a whumph of sound, Trevor's bones caught and a terrified, pained, scream echoed through the forest. Sadly, Sam hung his head. In the center of the field, the ghost's tulpa slowly dissolved into the air leaving no trace of its existence, other than the violence it had caused.

Sam looked up as his dad knelt next to him. "How's your neck?" He knew the man was speaking to _him_, despite the fact that he was carefully examining Dean as he spoke.

Sam shrugged, grating out his answer. "Okay." Then he tried to assess his father. "Dad…you were stabbed…"

His dad pushed his hands off his brother's wound and tore open Dean's shirt. "No, he just sliced me. Same as Dean's throat." The man shook his head. "My guess is Dean's throat and _my_ stabs were Chubby's idea and not Trevor's- that's why he couldn't fully carry them out."

Sam nodded. "You think if you didn't cover Dean, he would've stabbed through him more?"

Grimly his dad nodded. Slowly, with a moan, Dean began to turn his head and his father put a hand to the side of his face. "Easy, Dean, easy …"

Dean stilled his movements and blinked opened his eyes. Once again, the normally bright eyes were dulled. His father let out a shaky breath and turned to Sam. "Pack up our gear. We need to get him to a hospital. Then I'm gonna need you to stitch my back for me."

Sam nodded and began following his father's orders.

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Dean viewed the world through hazy eyes. Every thing seemed dulled. Voices, touches, sights…they were all muted. He had thought he would be able to pull it together, but once he tried to stand…well, now he had no idea what had happened, except that he felt a lot worse.

Suddenly, an intense pain ripped through his shoulder, and nothing was dull anymore. Vainly, Dean bit on his tongue in an attempt to stifle his scream. Above him, his father apologized. "Sorry, Dean. I need to get this bleeding stopped."

When Dean reopened his wet eyes, he noticed his father had packed his wound with bandages and was now squeezing down on it- hard. Sammy had done a good job of keeping pressure on it, but it was nothing compared to the strength his father was using. Based on the tingling in his arm, Dean was fairly sure that no blood was getting passed his shoulder.

A crashing through the trees on the edge of the meadow had all three Winchesters looking up. Dean could literally feel the tension in the air mount as the three Gervichs entered the field.

Picking up the last pack, Sam slowly backed his way toward his family, his glare never leaving Dennis' face.

For a moment, nobody spoke as the two families sized each other up. Finally, it was Doug who broke the silence with a smirk. "Well, you guys seem a little worse for wear…"

Behind him, Keith rolled his eyes. Dennis stepped forward. "You finish it?"

Gritting his teeth, John nodded.

Dennis' expression gave away nothing and Dean wondered if the man was glad or annoyed that they had eliminated the ghost. Dennis nodded in his direction. "Dean looks like he's pretty bad off."

Above, his father stiffened. "He is…"

His dad was feeling them out; he could tell. Under normal circumstances, his father probably wouldn't have given them a second glance. Harsh words would've been exchanged, guns would've been drawn, and then they would've left. But these weren't normal circumstances. He was hurt- and based on what he had overheard Sam say, his dad was hurt too. As it stood now, Dean knew he wouldn't be able to walk out of this forest. He would be lucky to make it to standing- much less walking. The only question was: would the Gervichs help?

Dennis smirked down at them. "I'd give you a hand with him, John, but you made it quite clear last time we met that you don't need or want any help when it concerns your kids. So, we'll do you a favor and leave you to it."

The eldest Gervich went to leave, but then stopped and turned back around. "Jim's been staying a while at our place. How many friends you got left, John? You keep it up- in a few years, you will've driven away everyone, your kids included." Dennis sneered. "You got no one. And when you die? I guarantee you, you'll be alone."

Dean grimaced through the pain as his father's hold became unbearably tight in response to Dennis' rambling. Unable to stop himself, Dean moaned and his father immediately relaxed his grip to painful pressure. Turning his head, Dean watched Dennis leave the field, followed closely by Doug and Keith. However, just before Keith disappeared into the trees, he turned, smiled, winked at Sam, and dropped a cell phone onto the floor. With one more step, he was gone.

Sam raised his brows and turned to their dad. Keith had left them a way to call for help- provided there was cell service in Sica Hollow. The only problem was- who would they call?

Dean blinked as his brother began pushing buttons on the discarded phone. _He_ may not have known who to call, but evidently, Sam did. Above him, his father went to move, but then realizing that he couldn't move _and_ keep pressure on Dean's shoulder, he sat back down. "Sammy, bring me the phone."

"It's Sam," was absentmindedly croaked out as his brother held the phone to his ear with a pointer finger held up in the air. Despite his condition, Dean's eyes widened. Did his brother just ignore his father and tell him to wait? He grimaced as his father growled and increased the pressure on his shoulder. It seemed that Sammy…_Sam_ was feeling better.

Before his dad could respond, Sam began talking into the phone. "It's Sam Winchester…yes…kind of…we're in Sica Hollow and we need help. Dean's hurt really bad and my dad's been cut up…okay…thanks." And with that, Sam hung up the phone and brought it over to his father.

Removing one of his hands from Dean's shoulder, an angry John ripped the phone out of Sam's hands. "Who did you call?"

Sam bit his lip and their dad's eyes narrowed in response. "Sam…who…"

Sam looked sheepishly at the grass. "Pastor Jim."

Dean sucked in a breath, very glad that only one of his father's hands was on him at the moment. His dad was clearly enraged, a hint of betrayal coming through as well. Sam would've known their father wouldn't want Pastor Jim involved, and yet, he called him anyway. Before their father regained his wits, Sam tried to explain. "We're all hurt, dad, and I know it's bad because you were even willing to get help from Dennis before he turned his back on us. Dennis said himself that Pastor Jim's been staying in town…and he said he'd be here right away."

John shook his head. "I don't know if you're _blind_, but Dennis was pretty clear about how willing he was to help. Jim's been staying with him for a week. What are the chances you think he's really gonna show? You're too Goddamn naive. The only people you can really trust are your family, me and Dean- that's it. These other people would just as soon kill you as help you, Sammy. If they believed for one second that you were a threat to them in any way, they'd come up from behind you and slit your throat. So the next time you're in a forest and you need help, you either find it from me or Dean, or you get out on your own. 'Cause calling anyone else is only gonna add to the danger."

Sam stood silent, picking the grass with his toe, the expression on his face clearly disagreeing with his father's speech.

John picked up on his son's difference of opinion and stood up, towering over the teen. "You get that, Sam? Did I make myself clear?!"

Sam jumped at the raised volume and lifted his head, surprise flickering over his features. Then the teen nodded. "Yes, sir."

Still pissed, John nodded his approval and looked down at Dean. "Time to get the hell out of here…"

Roughly, Dean felt his father lifting him into a standing position and before he could think, everything went black.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hold here, Sam."

Dean blinked his way into consciousness slowly, the smell of sweat and tequila filling his nostrils. As he opened his eyes, he noticed that his father's bloody denim jacket was only inches from his face. Blinking again, Dean turned his head to the left and noticed that his father was holding him…that didn't make sense. He was eighteen.

"Wrap it around one more time." His father's chest vibrated as he spoke.

Vaguely, he felt movement around his throbbing shoulder. From what he could tell though, his father was no longer squeezing down on it.

"I think he's awake, dad."

Suddenly, Dean found his head being tipped back and his father's concerned face came into view. "Sorry, Dean."

Dean just stared back in confusion, unsure of what the man was sorry for. Regardless, Dean nodded in forgiveness. His father smiled back and gently placed him onto the forest floor.

Sam bounced on his toes, shooting him a shit-eating grin. "I stitched your neck."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Sam's grin went even bigger and Dean lifted a shaking hand to his neck. Sure enough, it was bandaged and beneath the bandages, he could feel multiple upraised stitches. Was that what his dad was apologizing for? If so, he took back his forgiveness…his neck was a part of him that was visible to the world.

His father continued to smile. "He did a great job. I wouldn't have been able to do it better myself."

Sam nodded and became grave. "You were bleeding too much there and dad tried to stitch you but _he's_ bleeding too much, so his hands were shaking…"

Dean looked sharply at his father, scrutinizing him for any weakness. His dad looked at Sam seriously. "Don't exaggerate it- most hunts come with injuries, it's part of the territory. I'm fine; you needed the practice."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam look at him and shake his head. Clearly, Sam believed his father was worse off than he would admit.

Sam spoke again. "I still have to stitch dad's back, but he wants me to wait till we get back to the motel."

That was then Dean noticed that they were still in the forest. Apparently, it hadn't been part of his father's plan for him to pass out. Dean mumbled out his concerns. "'Stitches are okay? 'Not gonna scar are they? 'Cause, you know, it's m' neck…gets a lot of up close and personal action…"

This time, both his brother _and_ his father rolled their eyes. His father answered him. "The stitches are fine. No one'll be seeing anything. Your sex life will remain intact."

Dean smiled and looked appraisingly at his brother through half-lidded eyes. "'Glad you had to stitch the pig."

Sam said nothing, but crossed his arms and glared down at him.

Suddenly, a loud noise was heard and a man stumbled out of the bushes. All three Winchesters turned to look and Dean noted how both his father _and_ Sam drew their guns at the newcomer.

For a moment, the silence was deafening as the two Winchesters stared down the man with his hands raised in the air. Then, taking a breath, the visitor spoke. "I always preferred Luke's version of that story to John's…"

The hunting family simply stared in response to the seemingly random statement, so the man continued. "Luke 5:22… 'When Jesus perceived their thoughts, He answered them, "Why are you reasoning in your hearts? Which is easier, to say, 'Your sins are forgiven,' or to say, 'Rise up and walk'? But that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins, I say to you, rise, take up your bed, and walk- your sins are forgiven.'"

With an exhale of annoyance, John lowered his weapon and Sam followed in suit. Then John spoke. "Everything just relates back to the Bible with you doesn't it?"

The Pastor looked serious. "Yes."

John shook his head as he slipped his weapon into the back of his pants. "I agree though, Luke's version does seem to cover a lot more."

Pastor Jim smiled and walked towards the trio, crouching down next to Dean as he reached them. Gently, he cupped the side of Dean's face and Dean felt himself relax at the touch. "Should I assume all this blood that I'm sitting in belongs to you?"

Dean grinned. "'Don't assume, 'know what they say…some of it's m' dad's."

Immediately, the minister's eyes jumped to John and looked him over. Then the man sighed and turned to Sam. "Are you bleeding as well?"

With a small smile, Sam shook his head.

Placing his hands on his knees, the clergyman pushed himself into a standing position. Then, he brushed a hand over the back of Sam's head. "You have no idea how good it was to hear your voice."

Sam smiled and their father scoffed, pushing himself into a standing position as well. "Spend the day with him and see if you still feel that way…"

Sam's eyes narrowed and Dean laughed. "'Day? 'Spend a car ride with 'im."

The Pastor tried to hide his amusement as Sam crossed his arms in protest. Then the teen pointed a finger at his injured brother. "That's not true. I was annoying you in the car without saying _anything_…"

Dean just shook his head. That was true. You didn't need a working voice to clap in front of somebody's face.

The minister spoke to his father. "What do you need?"

Wearily, John rubbed a hand over his face. "Just some help getting to a motel…I thought we might need a hospital for Dean, but we've got the wound packed and the bleeding's stopped. He's still conscious…but his head goes much higher than his heart and he loses it. I'd probably go back to where we were. This way, hospital's next door if we need."

Jim clapped a supportive hand on John's shoulder and nodded. "I'll keep nearby once you're there. There'll be less questions if I bring him in."

John agreed and threw the cell phone to Jim. "Make sure this gets back to Keith."

The Pastor raised his brows in surprise as he accepted the phone. Then he looked down to Sam. "You think _you_ don't fit? Try being Keith and living with Dennis."

John growled his protest of the minister discussing Sam's 'not fitting' and Jim dropped the topic. Instead, he smiled down at Dean. "Well, looks like you're gonna need to move- and with the way your daddy's bleedin', looks like I get the joy of carrying you." Before Dean could make a snappy comeback, the man bent down, threw Dean over his shoulder and stood back up. Upside down, Dean found himself wondering at how smoothly the minister seemed to do that and do it without having him pass out.

Dean grimaced at the pain in his shoulder and neck as his carrier began to walk. It was more than a little frustrating and humiliating being helplessly thrown over someone's back, hanging upside down, and watching that person's ass cheeks flex alternately as they walked. He _really_ hadn't ever wanted to get so personal with the pastor's ass. He hoped the man hadn't had any beans today…

Behind him, Sammy's hoarse voice rang out. "Hey dad, if Dean's gotta lie down, can I sit up front?"

A voice up front responded. "I want you back there with him in case his wounds reopen. We need to know that right away."

Dean groaned. More sharing the backseat with Sammy…sometimes, life just sucked.

-------------------------------one week later-------------------------------

Dean grimaced as he tried to find a comfortable position in the passenger seat of the car. Unfortunately though, no matter what direction he turned, he ended up putting pressure on his shoulder. He had been out of the hospital for five days and now that the painkillers were gone, his shoulder hurt like hell. Pastor Jim had stayed until he'd been released, using his status as clergyman to dissuade any suspicions on the part of the medical personal. But after his release, everything was all on his dad, not that all that much had to be done, but still, Dean felt bad to be the burden.

He remembered his father's reaction to when Sammy had been strangled and it had stayed with him. And Dennis' words were also still ringing in his head. His dad had nobody. Sammy, he always had Dean. No matter what- no matter anything, Dean would _always_ be there, because whether Sam was aware of it or not, he needed someone to fall back on…everyone did. And most of the time, although he'd unwillingly admit not all of the time, Dean had his dad to fall back on. It was true, he tried to handle as much as he could on his own, but if he ever _needed_ someone, his dad was there. But who did his dad have?

There used to be mom, but she was dead…then there were all the family friends, but this past week had shown how much they could be depended on. If it had been up to his father alone, without Sam there, Pastor Jim would never have been called. His dad went through 'friends' like people on diahretics went through toilet paper.

Dean could remember the few times when the world had been on his shoulders and there was no one there to help him support it. Did his dad feel like that all the time? Dean shook his head and watched his father as he drove. He'd put an end to it now. From now on, his dad would be able to lean on _him_. It was like his father had told Sammy in Sica Hollow- the only people you can depend on are your family. So that'd be it. From now on, he'd be there for his dad, and he'd help his father carry any burdens that needed to be carried. Someone had to be there and Dean would do it. He'd make sure his dad never felt overburdened or alone again- and there'd be no way in _hell_ his dad would be alone when he died- not if he had something to say about it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam tried not to be bored as he sat in the backseat of the car…his permanent place. Dean wasn't even comfortable up in the front, and with his blood still replenishing its volume, he should've been lying down, which meant _he_ should've been in the backseat. But was he? No. Not that Sam hadn't suggested it…but the two definitive 'no's that he received in response hadn't left much room for argument.

"So where to?"

Sam looked up with interest as his father addressed his brother. Sam desperately wanted to answer that question with a great big 'Baltimore,' but as usually, his opinion was unwanted.

For his part, Dean didn't even seem to _understand_ the question. Instead, he just squinted back at his father in confusion. With a sigh, their father tried again. "Where you wanna graduate from, Dean?"

Finally, understanding, Dean answered with an uninterested half-shrug.

Sam looked on in frustration as their father tried to muster up some of Dean's enthusiasm. "I thought we'd go west. You seemed to like Bluffdale when we were there."

Sam made a face. Bluffdale, Utah had been okay, but of all the places they had been over the past five years, Bluffdale wasn't even in the top ten. Sure he had had _some_ friends, but nothing like he'd had in Baltimore.

Dean smiled slightly and then shook his head. "Nah. Sammy hated it there." Dean stretched his muscles with a grimace. "I don't really care. School's not my thing anyway. Sammy's the one who's all into it. Let him pick."

Sam grinned and his father's smiling eyes moved to the rearview mirror. "Okay, Sammy, it's up to you. Should I make the turn east then?"

Sam bounced in his seat and was about to blurt out his town of choice, when he stopped himself. He really, really, really wanted to go back to Baltimore. He had a lot of friends there, he had had a lot of _fun_ there, and he wanted to go back. But then he looked at his brother. Dean had been miserable there…and there dad was right, it was Dean's graduation year.

Sam pushed himself back in his seat, his feelings warring within him. Dean didn't want to go back to Baltimore; he knew that. And Dean had left the choice up to Sam so that he'd be happy. Sam shook his head. He had spent all this time trying to prove that he was an adult, that he wasn't a little kid…and he knew what the right thing to do here was. Dean deserved to graduate from a school that he liked.

Sam bit his thumbnail as he looked out the window. He really, really, really wanted to go back to Baltimore. All he had to do was say, 'Baltimore' and he'd get what he wanted. It was right there. And if they didn't go back now, he'd never be able to reconnect with his friends again…

Sam looked back over at Dean…

"Sammy, I need to know where I'm headed."

Sam scooted up to look out the windshield to see the signs for Rt. 80 approaching. Making a quick decision, Sam blurted out his answer. "Go west."

His father followed the direction and Sam once again, moved back in his seat. Dean looked back at him, confused. Sam shrugged. "Looks like you'll be graduating from Bluffdale…"

A startled look crossed Dean's face- obviously, his brother hadn't been expecting that- but then it was replaced by an appearance of serious gratitude. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam was completely taken aback by the genuine expression on his brother's face. Dean really _had_ wanted to go back to Bluffdale. As Dean turned back in his seat, Sam began to feel guilty. He had been so close to saying 'Baltimore', completely unaware of what Dean had wanted. All he had been thinking of was himself and yet, Dean had been thinking of _him_.

"Hey dad…you think Kelly Pearsen has a date for the prom yet?"

Sam watched his brother's rarely insecure face as their father answered. "That the girl you dated while we were there?"

Dean nodded. "It was two years ago, but she said if I came back, she'd go to the prom with me…she probably forgot about me by now…"

Their dad shook his head. "Weren't you her first?"

Dean nodded. "It was mutual."

Their father smiled. "Then trust me, she didn't forget you. You wanna call her when we stop for gas? Let her know you're comin'?"

Dean shrugged and picked at the balls of fuzz on his sweater. "She was hot, she's probably got a date already."

Their dad checked his blindspot as he moved into the left lane. "Never know unless you try. I've been told there's only one senior prom…"

At that, Dean smiled. "Yeah, I guess. At least I could tell her I'm coming back. I think I still have her number in the trunk…I could talk to her brother Mike too, I had a shitload of fun with that crowd…"

Sam looked out the window feeling somewhat ashamed and yet proud at the same time. Dean still had their number? And yet, when given the chance to go back there, Dean hadn't taken it? A few weeks ago, Sam would never have understood that…hell, a few weeks ago, he'd never have _believed_ that. But now, now he understood completely, because he had just done it himself. And given how much his brother was now looking forward to returning to Bluffdale, Sam was grateful that he had somehow pushed his own feelings aside and made the right choice. Sometimes, another person's happiness was more important than your own. But now he was left wondering, how many other times had Dean given up what he really wanted just to make Sam happy?

"Sam…"

Sam was shaken from his thoughts by his brother's voice.

"You want red or blue?"

Sam looked out the car window before choosing. "Black."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, you can't pick black. Black always wins."

Sam crossed his arms. "Fine. My black versus your red _and_ blue."

Dean agreed. "You're on. We got ten minutes and no cheating this time."

Sam shook his head and returned to the window. "That's you, Dean."

"Oh…right…forgot."

Sam laughed and began counting the black cars as they passed. It was going to be a long drive to Bluffdale, but he was healthy, his dad was healthy, Dean was healthy enough to count cars with him, and when it came down to it- he really didn't give a shit _what_ school he was in, as long as he was in _some_ school and his family was okay. Right now, life didn't get much better than that.

* * *

_Once again, thank you to everyone who stuck with this story despite the incredibly slow updates. I've appreciated your continued support and feedback more than you could ever know. And if you enjoyed the story, please leave a review and let me know- you'll make my day! Thanks!_


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